Maturity Is Relative
by Sunday Smile
Summary: Two years on. Juno is on the cusp of eighteen, facing graduation and adulthood. As the teenage façade slips away, Juno and Bleeker confront the nine months that changed their lives and brace themselves for that funny thing called 'the future.'
1. Tic Tacs and Stretch Marks

**Maturity is Relative**

Two years on and Juno is on the cusp of eighteen, facing graduation and impending adulthood. As the teenage façade slips away, Juno and Bleeker face up to the nine months that changed their lives so profoundly and brace themselves for that funny thing called 'future.'

Tic-Tacs and Stretch Marks

Two years later…

_AUTUMN_

The Tic-Tacs rattled against the orange plastic as he drained them like the last drops of Sunny D. _Crunch_._Crunch_._Crunch_. I could hear the zesty ornagey goodness exploding out of its one-calorie prison.

The Bleek had been right: those mail box Tic Tacs had the potential to stretch all the way to college. Well, they would if he didn't down them as regularly as Vinny Coles the diabetic insulin junkie who makes his trips regularly to the nurse for his hour of power on triglycerides shots.

"Y'know Bleeker, I heard that eating too many Tic-Tacs can give you one hell of a constipation experience."

The white rim of the Tic-Tac box paused at the edge of his lips.

"Really?"

"Yeah, don't go there. I mean, I've been blocked up from here to tomorrow once. Made friends with the bathroom tiles. Especially this one tile, it was kinda brown and speckly. If you squint really hard, I swear, you could see Mother Teresa!"

The Tic-Tacs had been hastily pocketed. Paulie Bleeker squinted up at me dubiously.

"You can't see Mother Teresa in a _tile_, Juno. I mean, to be seen in a tile you've got to be…canonized or something." His halting voice reasoned.

Bleeker's voice. Two years on from sixteen and it still hasn't broken. I swear, I'm starting to think I sound more masculine than him. It's all tremor-y like he isn't exactly sure of the answer (which I _know_ he knows because, c'mon, I've been swiping lab notes off him since we were fourteen) but it kinda makes me go all warm-fuzzy and I want to kiss him all over those Tic-Tac juice lips.

"I mean, Jesus has been in toast and the Virgin Mary on a fence post…Mother Teresa isn't even a saint yet. So, yeah, you got to be a saint…otherwise, well…it doesn't work." The love of my life finished lamely with a nod.

Remember what I said about mac and cheese? Bleeker's also the meat balls to my spaghetti. The hot dog to my bun. Leah gave me those ideas.

"Hey June-bug?"

I could hear Paulie swallow as I nestled into the crook of his bony shoulder, drawing my legs up onto the battered couch we called ours. I blinked as a fallen leaf landed on my shoulder. Oh yeah, the discarded furniture still hasn't moved from his front yard.

"Yeah?"

My voice was muffled as I decided, just for the hell of it, to sniff him. Orange Tic-Tacs, runner's deodorant, man-sweat. Sweet heavenly bliss this side of Loch Ness.

"I think I'd better go inside…you know, study. Mom's giving me that look again."

My eyes snapped to the Bleeker kitchen. Carole Bleeker, hands on hips, was giving me a stink-eye that could rival Katrina de Voors. That woman _hates_ me. Not like Liberty Bell tantrum 'I hate you!', but fire of a thousand suns, suck your bone marrow out, fingernail ripping _hate_. It doesn't help that I was once upon a time pregnant (what she doesn't know is that her son was exceedingly fertile in a chair) but for the past few weeks she's been trying the good ol' 'let her down gently' number:

"You know, Juno, Paulie's always been _such_ a good student, especially now with his SATs coming up. Maybe you should consider that when you come over to visit…?"

Yeah right, bitch. Like I haven't got SATs too (I have been pregnant, but I haven't lost my brain cells). She's just jealous because I haven't gained the fat-ratio of a baby hippopotamus after pregnancy like she did.

I sighed and rolled off our dilapidated couch, my red Converse All Stars crunching the leaves on the lawn.

"Yeah, s'pose I'd better go. _Donnie Darko_ can't watch itself." I slouched over and picked up my bike.

Bleeker gave me that small, caring smile of his as he lay sprawled on the couch.

"You coming over again tomorrow June-bug?"

"Fo' sure Bleek, I always do."

Bleeker's eyes momentarily flickered to the ground and back. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Wizard. Uh, _The Blair Witch Project_'s on TV again…"

I swallowed and did my best blank impression. Two years….wow.

"Yeah. I kinda missed it the last time."

With that I leaned over and caught Bleeker's top lip with my two. My boyfriend returned in kind, clasping his Tic-Tacky lips around my lower one. An unconventional, lingering kiss…but since when have we ever been conventional?

Before I pushed off, I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted in the direction of the kitchen:

"Bye Carole! Don't run out of color-safe bleach!"

Oh, she _hates_ me.

* * *

Welcome back to my life.

When you left me I was sixteen. Now I'm pushing eighteen and in my senior year at Dancing Elk High. Did you know that when you turn eighteen in some countries, like…I don't know, Australia, you can legally drink and _become_ an adult? That's wizard (the drinking bit) but also kind of creepy (the adult bit) because that means I have to be responsible and get a job and grow up. Responsible, me? I kill pet turtles, I forget Liberty Bell's medication…I…well, you know the obvious.

But then Bren says: "June-bug, kiddo, you've seen a hell of a lot more maturity than most thirty five year olds out there."

When she says that my mind immediately pictures Mark. Last I heard he had a loft. He's probably still dreaming big about being the next Kurt Cobain.

Then I think on it really hard and I realize…jeez, I _am_ mature.

Bleeker and I, even Leah, we don't see the world like we once did. We don't see the world like the other kids our age. We talk and think about things people who are twenty nine, with briefcases and nothing else to think about but 'let's start a family!' normally consider.

I've been through this side of stretch marks and back. I've endured insane cravings for blue slushie with chocolate sauce on top. I've waddled around like I'd swallowed one of Vanessa's fancy exercise balls. And all through this I went to school, where I really should have painted a face on my belly because it's where most people were staring at three quarters of the time.

Then I saw him. All kind of gray and pink and shriveled with this scrunched up expression that looked uncannily like Bleeker when he's angry (a rare occurrence, I assure you). There was blood and guts. It was messy. I was tired. Before passing out I realized how truly disgusting the human body could be. But then I went all mushy like Vanessa and concluded that it was beautiful….in a weird, warped horror-slasher way.

Bleeker and I say we don't think about it. We just want to get on with our lives, you know, be teenagers.

But that's not true. We _do_ think about it. We think about it when we are lying on our race car beds or when there is a pause between Iggy and the Stooges tracks. We think about it when we close our eyes to sleep and sometimes in our dreams we imagine babies crying.

I don't feel guilty about it. He was always Vanessa's anyway. I knew from the moment she touched my belly and her eyes filled up with tears. I was just some sixteen year old, ill-equipped incubator. The adoption remained closed. I haven't seen any photos of him but I do know his name.

It's Patrick.

That's a kinda boring name. I would have gone for something like Iggy Merlin Darkwing Duck.

I guess he'll always be that squidged up face covered in goo to me. I don't know what Bleeker visualizes when he thinks about it. He's only seen my pregnant-er and pregnant-er belly.

Whatever the case, my teenagedom leaked away as soon as I realized the pregnancy test was no Etch-a-Sketch. Now I don't quite know who I am. By the summer I will have graduated. I'm no kid, I haven't been since I endured the rollercoaster which was the 'miracle of life'…but I'm not about to swap my flannelette and hoodies for a power suit. Bleeker and I, we reproduced a little earlier than expected. Now that we can say 'Pregnancy: been there, done that one', what else do we have to look forwards to? College? A career? World fame?

Like Leah said one afternoon:

"You turned into a moody, bitching, over-eating whale for nine months Juno, but you are no mom."

I went through nine months as a baby-vessel and didn't even end up with the crying, puking, self-soiling, sleep-depriving end product. It feels kinda weird. Like there had been all this build up and anticipation two years ago and suddenly…_splooge!_…it just went flat.

Welcome back to normalcy, homeskillet.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** If you thought this was a one-shot...it's not. It is, instead, my attempt at a 'Juno' fiction! Before I go any further, I must disclaim that the characters and original 'Juno' storyline are by no way mine, they are instead the genius of Diablo Cody and I have merely succumbed to the quirky amazingness that is the Junoverse.  
Keep your eyes peeled kids. The familiar characters will be back in force. Will they be older, wiser and wise-crackier? I'm also planning on bringing in some characters that were mentioned in the film but never actually made an appearance. Enough of my kraken-style rambling...go forth to the button below and review!_

_Sunday Smile ._


	2. Redundant Hamburgers

Redundant Hamburgers

I leaned in, my eyes wide with macabre fascination.

"It kind of looks like his testicles, don't you think?"

I heard Bleeker gulp and cross his legs protectively.

"They…they are not his testicles. I read on Wikipedia they're teeth…and stuff. See, look…there's a tooth. It's a tooth…yeah." Bleeker was visibly uncomfortable as he pointed to the screen.

If you don't get what we are talking about, we've reached that scene in _Blair Witch_ where the chick opens up that bundle made out of her friend's shirt and…_blahhh!_...blood, gore, oh the horror! Bleeker insists it's the guy's teeth but I still think he's been eunuch-ed.

"I still think it's his manhood." I flopped back on my super-bony boyfriend (_magnificent!_) and crunched through a packet of nachos cheese chips.

"Think whatever you want to think, Juno. It's his teeth. The internet says so."

I held up my hands and rolled my eyes.

"Woo, don't question _the internet_!"

Bleeker softly laughed and pulled me closer to him on the couch.

"You're cute." He tentatively ran his fingers through my ponytail. Aw damn, my heart's gone racing again.

"And you're skinny." I tried to hide my blush by poking him in the ribs.

Bleeker picked up the fabric of his shirt and let it fall back onto his impossibly flat stomach. He bit his lower lip, his chin trembling slightly.

"Yeah, Coach said I've gotta bulk up a bit." He sighed.

I sat up, feigning outrage.

"What? Bulk up and risk splitting my favorite gold shorts? No way Bleek!"

Bleeker shrugged indifferently.

"I'm not sixteen anymore Juno, Coach says I've gotta get a bit more muscle otherwise…" He held up an arm and flexed it, "I might not cut the track team this time."

I sighed and wrapped my arms around his lean frame.

"I kinda like you the way you are Bleek, you know that?"

"Me too." He agreed mournfully.

Looking at us now, curled up on Bleeker's basement couch, things are still pretty much the same as they were two years ago. The Chair which had started my nine months of hormonal hell has sat untouched since its first and only use. Appearance-wise, Bleek and I aren't that different from sixteen…except for the fact that I'm no longer the size of a small planet.

Bleeker's a bit taller, but his eyes are still brown and his shorts are still gold. My hair's gotten longer and I've probably grown an inch. My breasts still haven't shrunk since pregnancy. This has earned Leah's envy and admiration:

"Sheesh MacGuff, maybe I should get knocked up just for those knockers!"

Poor dejected boy. I cupped Bleeker's jaw in my hand and drew his lips closer to mine.

"Can we make out now?" I asked with a smile.

Dejection, be banished! My boy's face just lit up more than a house festooned with Christmas lights!

"Sure."

Making out to the sounds of _The Blair Witch Project_ probably isn't all that romantic (screams, creepy noises, some girl blubbering) but it sure beats the 60's LP we thought would be awesome that time in The Chair. Fast forwards fifteen minutes and I'm straddling Bleeker, my jeans halfway undone whilst he's only in his boxers, his hands riding up my flannelette shirt and my fingers in his hair.

"Wizard." He whispered huskily as I bit his earlobe. Oh, there he goes, eyes-wide, a slight hitch in his throat.

"Puppy…?"

Heavy footsteps thumped down from upstairs. My boyfriend squeaked and pushed me off.

"Oof!" I fell back onto the couch.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Bleeker hissed as he yanked up his jeans from around his ankles, smoothing his messed up hair. I yawned from where I was sprawled, lazily doing up my fly and the buttons to my shirt. Way to go, Carole.

"Puppy, dinner's ready…oh. Hello Juno."

Mrs. Bleeker's voice floated in as her son plonked himself on the couch. I smirked as Bleeker immediately grabbed a pillow to rest over his lap, covering a certain bulge.

"Hey, hey!" I greeted his mother sarcastically, waving like she had entered some Krusty the Klown show or something.

Carole gave me a tight smile, her eyes trained on her son.

"Honey, dinner's on the table. Maybe it's time for Juno…"

"Yep, yep, I know the drill." I sighed, lurching off the couch.

Bleeker swallowed and scratched the back of his neck shyly. I leaned over and kissed him quickly on the lips.

"Next time you're coming over to mine." I whispered in his ear.

I raised my eyebrows as I sauntered past Carole, heading for the stairs. Her blond, fat, hobbitiness blocked my view of Bleeker as she ushered me to the door.

"Thanks for having me over again, Mrs. Bleeker," I relayed the speech I said every time Bleek's mom exorcised me from the house, "Y'know, maybe Paulie should come over to my place more often-"

"I do not think that is possible, Juno. Paulie has to put a lot of concentration into his upcoming exams these days…"

"Fair enough," I shrugged then waved a finger, "But never forget the importance of extracurricular activities…"

"I think the track team keeps him busy enough. Good night Juno."

I found the Bleeker door closed in my face. Bitter old hobbit. Sighing, I scuffed at the leaves littering the stoop. Onwards to the trudge home.

* * *

Opening the door to my house, I was accosted by two slobbering faces. No, it's not Liberty Bell and her friend who eats crayons this time, but Bren's _wonderful_ (read: revolting) Weimaraners. 

"Ugh! Get off me! _Bren_!" I shouted as I pushed the two silver-gray dogs away. Dog saliva makes me sneeze like no tomorrow.

"Cerberus! Anubis!" My stepmother scolded as she marched down the hall, yanking them back by their collars.

If you can't tell by their names, let me inform you that Dad went on another mythological naming bent.

"You're back late, June-bug." Bren remarked with those typically raised eyebrows of hers.

"Yeah," I huffed, opening up the fridge and taking a gulp from the orange juice, "Was over at Bleeker's after school. It got his mom's panties in a twist…_again_."

Bren let the dogs outside and shut the door. Her impossibly manicured nails strummed the kitchen doorframe.

"She still really doesn't like you, huh kiddo?"

"Yeah…" I drawled, replacing the orange juice, "But I'm thinking of breaking the ice, y'know? I think she has a right to know that it was her son who made me severely convex two years ago…"

Bren shook her head and chuckled.

"If you do that June-bug, I can assure you that you will never see Skinny-Legs again."

I groaned as I headed upstairs to my bedroom.

"Well, she can go fly a kite!"

"Don't forget dinner in ten, honey!"

Falling backwards onto my bed, I found my hamburger phone and rested it on my flat stomach. I strained my neck as I punched in the number.

"Yo-yo-yiggidty-yo."

"Yo, Birth Buddy, what's happening in your sick and twisted mind?"

"Juno?"

"No, its Anthony Hopkins, got any brains I can fry?"

"No good, mine are already fried," Leah deadpanned down the phone before chirpily continuing, "What's happening Girl Scout?"

I snorted with laughter as I kicked off my shoes, sitting cross-legged on my bed and pulling out my trusty LPs.

"Nothing much. Put up with you for six hours at school-"

"Hey!"

"-Went over to Bleeker's-"

"Oh jeez, please don't let this be another hour of Bleek-Speak…"

"Hey! I do not talk for an hour about Bleeker over the phone!"

"Fifty nine minutes and thirty six seconds, Sunny D Doll. I timed it."

"At least I don't get off about teachers…"

"C'mon Juno, you've gotta admit that Simon's cute!"

"Leah, you _did not_ just admit that Mr. Wilkinson is cute."

Mr. Wilkinson arrived at Dancing Elk a year ago as the Phys Ed replacement when Miss Barlett, bitch-on-wheels, had a sky-diving accident and broke her collarbone and five ribs. He never left. He also resulted in Leah ditching Beardy Keith…

"You know, there's a point when beardy becomes _too_ beardy."

…and taking up extracurricular baseball just so she could bask in the red-headed radiance that is 'Simon.' Never mind the fact that Leah has no hand-eye co-ordination skills:

"Simon says I just need a little more practice…"

"He put me out the back of the field today, Juno! You should have seen the view I got of his nice, tight ass!"

Unfortunately for the staff of Dancing Elk High, Leah's sexual activation knows no sign of deactivation.

"…so anyway, Miss Cuthbert is holding another 'Forwards Thinking Seniors' forum tomorrow morning." Leah continued after her mandatory babble about Simon writing her a note to go to the nurse for menstrual stress.

I groaned.

Miss Cuthbert and her 'Forwards Thinking Seniors' rants. 'Forwards Thinking' is about as useless a phrase as 'Sexual Activity.' Since when can you be 'Backwards Thinking?' Miss Cuthbert is the school counselor who takes special interest in 'healthy environments', 'positive thought' and 'self-love.' Terms that all sound like euphemisms for spanking off.

She took special interest in me when my pregnant state could no longer be blamed on gastric bloating:

"Going to term is a daunting prospect, Miss MacGuff…"

"Look Miss Cuthbert, why don't you just shut your pie-hole and cut the psycho-babble? This kid is re-enacting _The Matrix _in here and I've gotta pee really bad."

"Oh…all right Juno. I'm sure that's just the hormones talking."

I returned my thoughts to the conversation at hand.

"Another 'Forwards Thinking Seniors' forum? Kudos to Cuthbert, she's going all out." I observed dryly.

"It's only 'cos she's bonking Vice Principal Smythe that she's getting all this air-play." Leah parted bluntly with insider knowledge.

I rolled my eyes.

"Great, now we have to brace ourselves for yet another hour of 'The Four Points of Forwards Thinking.'"

"'Forwards Thinking equals a Fantastic Future!'" Leah parodied, "You know, Juno-"

My phone suddenly crackled and the line went dead. I frowned at it.

"Le?" I asked, giving my hamburger a quizzical look and shaking it, "Leah? You there?"

Silence.

I huffed, smacked the novelty piece of technology and redialed the number.

Silence.

* * *

"Looks like its dead, June-bug." 

Dad clicked his tongue as he turned my beloved hamburger phone over like a limp carcass with his screwdriver.

"Dead?" I repeated disbelievingly.

My hamburger phone lay dismembered on Dad's work bench, like the victim of an autopsy gone wrong. The phone line spiraled down to the floor, a stretched umbilical cord. Dad scratched his bald head and sighed.

"Yup, no can-do, honey. It's as dead as a doornail. Completely kaput. Gone to meet its maker." He broke the news to me tenderly.

I slumped in the nearest chair. Sure, my hamburger had been on the blink for three years…but I didn't expect it to just _die_ like that!

"Aw man," I felt my eyes watering involuntarily, "That hamburger got me through so much…"

Dad patted my shoulder reassuringly.

"Don't worry kiddo, next time we'll get you a lobster phone."

"Farewell sweet hamburger, I knew you well."

* * *

_**Author's Note:** And here's another chapter to prove that it wasn't just a one-shot! I must give a big thank you to all my lovely reviewers- I'm delighted that you like it and I hope the following chapters will meet your expectations! Next chapter the plot should pick up a little and things start getting a little quirky-weird-wonderful...  
Head forth to that button that makes me smile! _

_Sunday Smile. _


	3. Bunsen Burners and Blue M&Ms

Bunsen Burners and Blue M&Ms

"Hey Prego-Mego, forget your belly today?"

I lifted my eyes to the gym ceiling despairingly as Steve Rendazo's voice taunted from behind. Two years on and some still couldn't get over the fact that I was once 'The Cautionary Whale.' I whipped around and gave him the finger.

"Admit it, Rendazo, you _want_ me!" I shot back.

His jock friends guffawed and slapped him on the back. I stared hard at his face and swore I could see uncertainty flickering across it. He lowered his eyes and raised them, looking almost sad, before turning away.

"Don't…don't say that Juno."

Bleeker pulled at my sleeve nervously. He looked terrified.

"What?"

"Don't say that…." He continued, staring at the floor, "Because, you know, Rendazo might _actually_ want you and then…I wouldn't know what to do."

I playfully punched my boyfriend and grabbed him lightly in a headlock.

"Hey, don't go soft on me, Bleek! You know you're golden."

Bleeker smiled at me shyly, taking me around the shoulders and kissing my cheek. Two years and we're still tight. I knew I had been onto a good thing in Spanish class.

"Oh, young love!" Leah exclaimed melodramatically, hand to her heart as we sidled into the gym bleachers.

The lights had been dimmed in the gymnasium, a spotlight trained on the podium where the Dancing Elk banner was obscured by a navy cloth with silver spangly letters reading: 'Forwards Thinking is the FUTURE!'

"It's showtime!" Leah clapped her hands unenthusiastically as we made a triumvirate closest to the 'exit' sign.

Miss Cuthbert with her ostrich neck, too-long legs and children's librarian glasses (please say that is not my future…!) tapped at the microphone.

"Ahem, ahem…"

The student body chatter dulled a little.

"_Ahem!_"

Everyone became begrudgingly silent. I yawned and stretched.

"Move over Bleek."

"Why?"

"I want your shoulder."

"Huh?"

"Wow, you sure do make a bony pillow!"

"I thought you liked my physique…"

Leah picked at her nails.

"D'you think Bren could give me a manicure this afternoon?"

"Ask her yourself, Le. Right now, I need sleep."

Give me a choice and I will fall asleep on cue. Anywhere, anytime. Especially during Cuthbert's speeches. Bleeker later informed me that I missed (oh, what a shame) a 'new and exciting revamp' of the Four Points of Forwards Thinking. He also mentioned something along the lines of personal one hour counseling sessions with Cuthbert this week. I wasn't paying much attention until Wednesday's lab class came along…

"You seen Cuthbert yet?" Bleeker asked as he adjusted his plastic goggles. I used mine to keep the hair out of my face.

"No. Why?" I squinted down a dirty test tube.

Josh and Amanda joined us opposite. I have never really spoken to them outside class, but since we were sixteen Bleeker and I have followed their dodgem car-style relationship through the twice-a-week lab sessions we share. Amanda's eyes were puffy with tears, Josh was nursing a bruise.

"Don't say anything!" Amanda snapped our way, giving Bleeker and I a withering glare. I shrugged innocently.

"We didn't say anything, did we Bleek?"

"Um…no…no we didn't….at least I hope we didn't…did we Juno?"

Amanda's glare turned deadly and Josh looked ready to cry.

"Silencio Tic-Tac Boy or face death by lasers!" I whispered melodramatically. The Bleek gulped.

The lab prac was fairly routine. As it had been for years, Bleeker did the previous reading, I copied, I did the experiment and Bleeker prevented me from blowing up the classroom.

"Don't know what I'd do without you, Bleek." I commended as he halted me from adding some chemical that would cause a noxious gas and make our bodies turn inside-out (wizard!). We shared a smile and touched hands. As if we had pushed a button, Amanda had a kraken-style freak out:

"Will you two just _stop_ rubbing it in?" She sobbed loudly, causing all heads to turn our way.

Bleeker and I exchanged looks and stared.

"Um…" I started.

"It's not fair! Everyone knows, Josh! Everyone knows! Even the teenage mom here is rubbing it in!" The girl who was clearly off her rocker screeched before storming off, the hapless Josh trailing after her.

"Well…" I blinked after the tempest, "That was interesting. So what were you saying about Cuthbert?"

"Oh…?" Bleeker's glassed-over brown eyes blinked back to reality as he had become absorbed in the Josh-and-Amanda saga, "Um, yeah, have you had your personal interview with her yet?"

"The last time I spoke to Cuthbert she was trying to tell me about the benefits of folate."

Bleeker looked at me blankly with an expression I could only read as: 'what's folate?'

"What did Forwards Thinking Franny have to say for herself?"

At this Bleeker beamed.

"She said I had the potential to get into an Ivy League college!"

"Well, isn't that swell," I smart-mouthed, "How did she get to that conclusion? Use the Forwards Thinking Freak-o-meter?"

"Miss MacGuff?" Mr. Tinker's voice interrupted.

"Huh?" I whipped around. The offending woman was at the door.

"Miss Cuthbert is here for your session, Miss MacGuff."

* * *

I sauntered in, grabbed the bowl of M&M's and plopped down into the red bean bag. Posters of happy looking children hemmed me in. Motivational phrases assaulted my eyesight: '_A smile a day makes the blues go away!_', '_Remember: you are beautiful!_' Someone gag me with a spoon. 

"Nice digs, Cuthbert." I remarked as the counselor primly perched herself on the chair opposite.

"Thank you Juno." She replied stiffly, bringing out a yellow pad of paper and a Mickey Mouse pen. I arched an eyebrow wryly.

"So…Miss MacGuff…how have you been finding our weekly Forwards Thinking Seminars?"

This horse of a woman brought into view the Four Points.

Well, what could I say? I shifted awkwardly on the bean bag and crossed my legs.

"Honestly, Miss Cuthbert, I think it's _awesome_. I mean, you work so hard at it that you _almost_ cannot tell that you're regurgitating the same stuff some guy in Texas came up with and is now making two million out of because you are one of the thousands of suckers to fall for his catchphrases." I delivered the truth with a smile.

That ruffled some feathers. She looked ready to protest, her mouth open, but diplomatically she closed it and composed herself.

"Thank you for your opinion, Miss MacGuff."

I gave her a winning smile as I picked out the blue M&Ms.

"So…have you got a vision for the future, Juno?" Cuthbert finally asked once she collected herself together. I scrunched my face into an expression of thought.

"Well, tomorrow I'm getting another Janis Joplin LP, Dad and Bren should be getting me a replacement lobster phone and I think the drugstore has a new version of slushie I've been kinda keen to try out." I humored her.

"No," Cuthbert maintained tersely, "I am talking about the _long-term_ future, Juno. What are your thoughts on your life aspirations? Are you planning to go to college? Have a career? Start a family?"

I held my finger up at the last point.

"You see, Miss Cuthbert, you talk about these things like I'm gonna have years and years before I actually _do_ them. Start a family: well, I kinda already did that, so what does that leave me?" I counted off my fingers, "College? No thanks. Career? Well, sort of. You see, I've got this grand master plan, just ask Bleeker, that one day after my graduation I'll go outside to put the trash out, like I always do, but instead I find a broken down tour bus. Hey, it can happen. Anyway, as you have noticed of late, Miss Cuthbert, the American way of life, our generosity of spirit, has gone slowly down the plug-hole. Time for a revival, I say! In helping out these stranded musicians they come to the realization that I have _the_ encyclopedic knowledge late '70's rock n' roll, the _real_ golden age of music, none of this grunge and indie crap, and suddenly, I'm a roadie! I guess it's only up from there. My aim in life is to perform onstage with Iggy and the Stooges on one of their many come-back tours. I don't care, I could be the girl in the back playing the kazoo as long as I get to bask in the radiance of his holy punkness!"

Miss Cuthbert was looking a little slack-jawed. I beamed at her and shrugged a shoulder.

"But, you know," I continued casually, "I'm trying not to be _too_ idealistic…"

Cuthbert spluttered.

"Juno, you _do_ know the difference between reality and fantasy?"

"Oh yeah, don't I ever," I rolled my eyes knowingly, "You should be talking to Genie Donahue about that. I heard he spanks off to anime characters in the A.V. room. What's up with that?"

The school counselor was starting to appear traumatized. Was I coming on too strong? Her eyes flickered up and down as she hastily jotted something on her notepad.

"Ah…thank you for that Juno."

"Not a problem, Miss Cuthbert, I'm only here to help."

I fished around in the M&Ms bowl. Damn, no more blue ones. I bet my mouth looks like it's been painted with Windex.

"Well, it's been nice chatting to you and all, Miss Cuthbert, but I should probably get back to class in case I'm missing another installment of the Josh-and-Amanda drama. They're like one of those trashy day-time soaps, y'know? Except this one you can't press 'rewind.'" I heaved myself out of the squishy bean bag and ambled towards the door.

I could smell the scent of normalcy when Cuthbert's quiet voice made me stop dead:

"Do you ever think about it, Juno?"

I almost choked on my own saliva before I glanced over my shoulder.

"What?" I tried to appear incredulous, but in the pit of my stomach I knew what she was referring to.

"You know I am here for you if you ever want to talk." Cuthbert clasped her hands and looked me in the eye, "You don't have to bottle it up."

My fingers were trembling. I was starting to feel shaky.

"Sorry Cuthbert, I don't know what you're getting at." I shrugged off-handedly.

Cuthbert's gaze remained firm.

"You know very well what I am talking about Juno. It has been two years and you have not once come to me to talk about it. You've been through some _huge_ things for such a young person…don't you ever just want to let it all go?"

My mouth felt dry and my reflex to swallow was heightened.

"If you're thinking that I'm gonna have a freak-out and need to be drip-fed antidepressants or something, you're wrong. I'm coping fine, Miss Cuthbert, and if I need anyone I've always got Dad, Bren and Bleeker…even Leah's good to bitch to." I explained hastily,"Look, you probably think I'm messed in the head and a high-risk candidate for suicide or something because your little books told you so…but I'm fine, really. I just want to be, you know, _normal_."

Cuthbert gave me her trade-mark patronizing sigh.

"Juno, your life will _never_ be normal…" She asserted as if she were saying 'yes, the sky _is_ blue', "You went through something most sixteen year olds wouldn't even dream of. You made some massive decisions that some people twice your age would buckle at…and now you just expect to walk away from it all like it didn't happen? You _can't_ do that Juno. That time of your life, those decisions, they'll stay with you forever. That baby is still yours-"

My stomach clenched. I interrupted, my voice shaking.

"No. No, he's not mine. He's Vanessa's."

"He is still your flesh and blood, Juno." Cuthbert stated simply, "You can't ignore things like that. You will _always_ have a connection to that child, no matter what you try to say or believe. He was dependent on you for nine months and he still is now. You gave him his genetic make-up. You made him who he is. You're almost eighteen now Juno. You can't keep running away."

My jaw was rigid and my hands clenched. I expelled a short burst of air.

"I'm not running away." I maintained softly, "The adoption was closed. There is nothing I can do about it anyway."

Miss Cuthbert nodded slowly, understandingly. She slid a card across her desk in my direction. I reluctantly picked it up.

"Remember Juno…if you ever need to talk…"

"Yeah, yeah I know." I sniffed, trying to hold back the tears. With that I turned on my heel and marched out of there.

It felt like I had been holding my breath for the last five minutes and the blood had rushed to my head. The halls in front of my started to blur and swim. My head pounded. I ducked into the nearest empty classroom and pushed the door shut, sliding my back down it until I crumpled on the floor. I stared at my hands, they were shaking. I gingerly touched my face with my fingertips. Hot, sticky tears had begun to course down my cheeks.

At that moment, I broke. Two years of strength and I hadn't cried like that since the time Bleeker came to see me in the hospital ward. Hacking sobs filled my body and I buried my face in the crook of my arm.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **A bit of a change of pace as reality starts to catch up with Juno...but don't worry, our heroine is not going to get too angsty. She's a hard nut to crack, our Juno, and she'll keep soldiering on! Thank you to everyone for their wonderful reviews, it's heartening to know that you all enjoy it. More chapters will be up shortly. In the meanwhile, tally-ho to the button below!  
Sunday Smile. _


	4. Coming to Terms

Coming to Terms

"Let me be the first to tell you that you look like shit MacGuff."

I blinked as I felt someone jump up onto the bleacher overlooking the empty athletics track. My head snapped the way of the voice and my breath rose frostily in the autumn air. I moaned and wiped away the tear-residue.

"Sheesh Rendazo, go piss on your own patch of turf. This one's taken!" I dismissed him, returning my gaze to the distance. I hugged my hoodie closer around me.

Steve Rendazo only laughed, and like a douche, plonked himself besides me but safely out of punching distance. He fished around in his pocket, procuring a cigarette and lighter.

"What if I want to piss on this turf?" He mumbled whilst lighting the cigarette and taking a drag.

"Then you better watch out, Fag-Boy, 'cos Mama Lion might just make sure you never get a hard-on ever again."

"Damn, sounds sexy." He exhaled and flashed me a smile.

I slid my eyes towards him suspiciously and hunched further into my hoodie. My fingernails flaked off the peeling bleacher paint.

"What're you doin' out here anyway, MacGuff? Aren't you missing precious buddy-buddy time with Beaker-Boy?"

"Why don't you just shut your gob, Rent-a-Tumor and go torment someone else?"

"God…you're not preggers again, MacGuff?" Steve snorted with laughter, his blue-green eyes sparkling.

"No!" I spat with disgust and glared at him.

Rendazo shrugged, almost as if it were a shame. Cue the inferno of infuriation.

"Damn. I thought you were going all hormonal and stuff."

"You didn't exactly make my first pregnancy a walk in the park, so I don't want to know what you'd do if I was again." I muttered bitterly and gnawed at my lower lip.

Rendazo laughed. He rubbed at his stubble and leaned forwards.

"Hey, it wasn't my idea. The guys put me up to it. I still thought you were cute even when you gained, like, a hundred pounds of kid-fat."

I gave him a repulsed look. The jock was _admitting_ that he was into me? Has the sky turned yellow? Is it raining frogs? Is the apocalypse a-coming?

"Why don't you just…go bang a cheerleader or something?" I found myself exclaiming as I hopped down the bleachers and trudged off. Only his laughter followed me.

* * *

Fumbling around in my locker, I yanked out my books and slammed the door shut with irritation. Bleeker's wide-eyed expression appeared from behind the locker door. I quirked an eyebrow. 

"Walking me to class, good sir?" I offered him my arm but Bleeker remained in traumatized silence. Finally, he spoke.

"Why…" He started and his voice cracked. He swallowed and resumed, "Why were you talking to him?"

His voice wavered more than usual and his brown eyes were searching. He chewed his lip.

"Who?" I reshuffled my books and dropped them in my shoulder bag.

Bleeker scratched the back of his neck, his eyes darting away.

"You…you know who I'm talking about…" My boyfriend insisted quietly, "Rendazo."

I put my hands on my hips.

"Oh. Rendazo was only looking for a cig-friend. And honestly, I think I'd rather get run over by six varieties of truck before I die of passive smoking. It's a stupid way to die." I remarked as I slouched off towards our Spanish class.

"But I _saw_ you two. I mean, I was kind of starting to get worried when you didn't, you know, come back from Cuthbert's office and…well, you know how I get, June-bug, I started to think you choked on Sunny D or that other stuff you like…and well, I went over to the lab window and I saw you. I thought it was kind of weird that you were at the track because you're usually only at the track when the team are doing warm ups and well…we were all in class. And then I saw him and I thought…"

"Bleek," I turned around to my lanky boyfriend and looked him in the eye, "Breathe."

Bleeker swallowed and shut up.

"OK." He squeaked. He was silent for a few seconds as we dodged the swell of the student population before he spoke up again, "But…what were you doing out there anyway, June-bug?"

I sighed and dug my hands into my pockets.

"You know…thinking."

Bleeker was silent for the rest of the day.

* * *

"How was school, kiddo?" 

Dad's voice floated from somewhere within the bowels of the house as I slogged down the hallway, Sunny D in one hand, licorice rope in the other.

"Mmph." I mumbled, mouth full as I trundled in, throwing myself on the couch and huffing. Dad raised an eyebrow in my direction.

"You're lookin' kind of lugubrious, June-bug."

I swallowed my food and plastered a perplexed expression across my face.

"Since when do you use words like 'lugubrious', Dad?" I quizzed him.

My father gave me a sleuthing little smile and held up the broadsheet he was leaning over.

"It's the word of the day in the paper."

"Lemme guess," I sighed, "Use it three times a day and you'll remember it forever, right? Here's another usage: my cacti are looking kinda lugubrious."

"Gotta take better care of them kid."

"Who cares, I'll get another one in February."

There was a silent pause. Dad returned his gaze to the back page comics and I snapped off a small length of licorice rope.

"Dad…?" I ventured quietly, "Do you think I'm a bad person?"

Dad looked briefly confused and then his expression softened. He sighed.

"Is this about the hamburger, Juno? I know you got attached to it but it's not your fault it's broken-"

"No Dad," I sighed, contemplating whether to laugh, "It's not about the hamburger."

Dad put away the paper and concentrated upon me.

"Is some wingnut giving you a hard time at school? Because you know what I say-"

"Dad, its fine…well…I guess I've just been doing some thinking…"

"Thinking?" My father repeated, scratching his chin. I chuckled.

"Yeah, I _can_ think, remember?" I drawled sarcastically

"Wouldn't have guessed," Dad caught onto my humor, "I always thought you were a one-celled amoeba…and a damn smart one at that."

I smiled ruefully and started picking at my nails. Bren hates it when I do that.

"Yeah…sometimes I wonder about the smart bit." I mused quietly.

Dad scooted over onto the couch to join me.

"Is this something we should be talking about with Bren in the room? Because you're old Pop can get a little muddle-headed at times…"

"No Dad, I just want you this time. Just hear me out, OK?"

"OK kiddo. Shoot."

I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. I closed it, shifted and sighed. Lurching off the couch, I started to pace, wringing my hands as I tried to find the best way to vocalize my thoughts. My eyes flickered back to Dad. He followed my pacing form like a game of ping-pong. And he was looking kind of pale…

"June-bug…" His voice cracked, "You're not…"

My eyes widened as I caught onto his suspicions. I held up my hands and shook my head furiously.

"No! God no! It's OK Dad; I'm not up the spout again."

Dad let out a gush of air in relief.

"For a moment there you had me scared, June-bug. Last time you did that pacing business…well…you're definitely not pregnant?"

"Don't' worry, I'm not."

"You haven't been expelled?"

"You'd be notified first."

"There's not a stash of crack underneath your mattress that the county cops are after?"

"Not the last time I checked."

"Then what's eating at you, June-bug?" Dad finally asked.

I moaned and buried my face in my hands, flopping into the nearest wicker chair.

'It's just…I don't know…do you think I'm a bad person?" I repeated.

Dad got that serious look on his face. Like that look he gave Mark and Vanessa when we first met, sussing them out to make sure they weren't of 'crazy wingnut' caliber.

"I_know_ you're not a bad person, Juno. You've always been precocious for your age…you sure as hell didn't get that from your old man…and you've got a good, solid head on those shoulders. I trust you June-bug, you're my whiz-kid. You're the smartest MacGuff for generations and you've got a good set of morals underneath all those wise-cracks."

Dad's honesty was starting to make me blush.

"I'll always love you for who you are, kiddo."

I gave him a fleeting smile. Some people might not think my Dad's the sharpest tool in the shed because his life's aspirations have culminated in air-conditioning and heating…but he sure manages to see through all the shit people put up as their defenses.

My heart warmed, I decided to let the difficult words loose.

"I remember when Mom left you kept on telling me how selfish she was and how she didn't care about us…"

The air became thick as soon as my absent mother was mentioned. Mom's name has the ability to turn people off their dinner in this household. She's like the non-existent white elephant in the room.

"You were too young to understand back then, Juno. Some of the stuff I said…"

"Dad, it's OK. It's just…do you think if Patrick ever finds out about me, he'll think the same way?"

There was a pause. Dad let out a sigh from the depths of him and ran his hands down his face.

"Honey, there's a difference between you and your Mom. There always will be. When your mother left you, she was only thinking of herself and that, what's that word you kids use nowadays? Duck-bag?"

"Douche-bag, Dad."

"Yeah…that_ douche_-bag, Dwight. But you, Juno, from the moment you told us you were in one mighty big pickle, I knew you were looking out for that little tike inside of you. You found someone you could trust and who would love that kid and look after him better than you could at the time. You wanted to give that baby the best shot in life possible, even if it meant making one damn hard decision. I bet, June-bug, when that little boy grows up, he'll thank you for it."

"Really?" I whispered, close to tears.

"Really." Dad nodded sagely, "Sure, that Vanessa may have been some Pilates-making, neurotic nut, but when she looked at you, Juno, I knew she would love that kid more than anything in the world. You gave that little sea-monkey a stable home and a loving mom, and you gave Vanessa the most wonderful thing in the world. Those two owe you big-time, honey, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

I felt a single tear leak out of the corner of my eye. Dad put his arm around me and I cuddled into him.

"Thanks Dad." I sniffled.

"No problem, kid." My father's voice gruffed.

We stayed like that for some time. The house was silent except for a muffled Backstreet Boys tune coming from Liberty Bell's toy radio as she practiced her junior dance routine. Bren's ceramic dog clock ticked loudly on the mantelpiece. The tear trickle slowly dried on my cheek. Afternoon turned to dusk, dusk to early evening.

Eventually, I decided to get on with the remainder of the day. Carefully extracting myself from Dad's heavy embrace, father-of-mine snorted and muttered, his head lolling back. Trust him to fall asleep in my hour of need. Stealing out into the hallway, I rummaged for the Previa keys in Bren's Labrador bowl full of odds-and-ends.

"Where're you heading, Juno?" My stepmom's city accent rang out from where she was making another dog collage under her embroidery lamp. Cerberus and Anubis lay snoozing at her heels.

"Just out for a drive. I need to get some air." I announced, jingling the keys and shrugging on my coat.

"OK then sweetie, don't be late, huh?"

"Sure thing, Bren."

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Thank you everyone for their wonderful feedback! I'm pretty amazed at the number of reviews this little fiction of mine is getting and I'm touched!_ _I'm seeing 'Juno' again tonight, so I'll probably return freshly inspired and with lightening updates. In the meantime, whilst I'm dutifully typing away...mosey on down to the review button!  
Sunday Smile. _


	5. The Great Furniture Heist

The Great Furniture Heist

Two months later…

_WINTER_

Life kicked on as usual in Dancing Elk.

The words 'exams', 'future' and 'college' became mainstays in staff vocabulary and Cuthbert started to exercise 'guidance powers', effectively turning my high school into a police state of self-love and happy prospects.

As frost welcomed us in the morning, our breath became visible and we waddled around in multiple layers, the Bleeker house entered lock-down mode.

"Mom says my exams are priority, Juno…so yeah, I guess that's the end of our weeknights together…but only for a little while-"

"You've gotta be kidding me, Bleek!"

"No, I'm not kidding you June-bug, believe me, I'm just as royally ticked off about it as you are!"

But no matter how ticked off Paulie Bleeker got, there was no budging Carole. Weeknights were off-limits, Fridays together earned a stern 'maybe' and Saturdays a firm huff and mandatory guilt-trip.

Three weeks passed and I was starting to freak out about the lack of Bleeker action in my life.

"It's a bit like that movie with those five sisters who all kill themselves, huh?" Leah remarked as we ambled past Bleeker's lifeless house, slushies in hand despite the chilly air surrounding us, "Freaky."

"No-one's gonna Sophia Coppola my boyfriend!" I retorted, scuffing at sleet-covered grass with my Chucks.

My gaze lingered on the mournfully silent Bleeker residence, the gutters thick with sludgy snow-residue, the overhanging trees bare and spindly. My mind conjured up visions of the various methods of torture the world's most imposing hobbit could be subjecting my boyfriend to: exam coaching, 'consolidation time', academic advice, practice papers…breakfast for dinner night upon night. The horror!

"C'mon Speedy Gonzales, use those legs!" Leah jolted me from my stationary position as her cheerleader's physique jumped up and down, "It's freezin'!"

I mumbled something and lurched off behind her, my straw slurping the dregs of my blue slushie. Hugging my padded jacket closer around me, I caught up with Miss Perky and proceeded to dampen her mood.

"He could be dying in there you know." I informed bitterly, stealing glances of Bleeker's bedroom window as it receded into the distance.

Leah guffawed and arched an eyebrow.

"Death by study? I've heard of people choking on jelly and having weirdo freak-outs after playing, like, Halo for three days straight….but that's a new one."

I tried to suck up the very last of my slushie, making a very loud rattling noise.

"Le," I tilted my head at her wearily, "At the rate I watch slasher-gore movies, I can come up with some highly creative scenarios…my beloved Bleek could be skewered by pens and pencils, toxic lead pencils at that, and someone could be ramming exam papers down his throat…"

Leah shook her head and raised her eyebrows dubiously.

"Sheesh, all this Bony-Bleek deprivation really isn't doing anything for your mental health…"

We trundled on quietly, occasionally pausing to deface a garden gnome or for Leah to bitch about the occupants of a certain house. A patter of footsteps turned to a rumble and in a matter of moments Leah and I were overwhelmed by the Dancing Elk track team in their track pant-ed, yellow headband-ed glory. Le and I stood still in the center as the boys in red and yellow jogged past us in a blur, their breath rising collectively in a mist. My eyes scanned every face as they passed by. Bleeker was not one of them.

As the last stragglers panted past, the way was now clear. It was then that a glorious sight revealed itself to me. It's like the heavens should have opened up and proclaimed '_la_!'

"Sweet Stooges…is that what I think it is?" A smile curled on my lips as I ventured forth to inspect my prize.

"Wow! What a find!" Leah chuckled behind me, pulling at her beanie.

Oh yes, it was a magnificent find. Magnificent with its ripped vinyl seating, the color of baby's puke, and its cheap plastic 'decoration' a disturbing shade of tangerine. It was sublime 70's kitsch.

"This…" I circled the three abandoned bar stools and accompanying mini chest of drawers, "Is gold."

"Where're we going to re-house it?" Leah asked excitedly, hopping up on one of the vinyl stools and wobbled.

I paused for a moment and sighed.

"Bleek's front yard has a living room set but no bar stools and we need something to put that lampshade on…" I patted the surface of the drawers.

"Wizard!" Le clapped her hands together, "We haven't had a furniture heist in months."

I fished my pipe out of my pocket and clenched it between my teeth.

"Good things come to those who wait, kiddo." I stroked the furniture lovingly, "Come nightfall, you're mine, baby."

Leah and I froze when a female voice wafted from the house.

"Steven! Honey! Could you take the rest of that junk out onto the front lawn?"

My best friend and I stifled laughter as we scrambled behind a decorative rock outcrop, observing the everyday-ness of other people's lives.

"Yeah, whatever." Came a male voice and moments later the front door was opened and footsteps hopped down the stoop.

I could hear the tinkling and clinking of plastic, the type of noise you hear when you accidentally walk into those hippy shops with their wind chimes and crap hanging from the ceiling. But this was better than any dream-catcher.

"Wow…" Leah and I breathed simultaneously.

It was amazing. A broken chandelier, rather large, not a fancy-dancy glass chandelier but something even better: a chandelier with _imitation_ plastic glass drops. Oh-so retro.

"That's wizard…" I whispered.

"I can't believe it!" Leah choked back a laugh, "It's Rendazo!"

I stopped. I blinked. I looked again. I had been so wrapped up in the glory that had been my future broken faux-chandelier that I had forgotten to observe the kindly donator. Or not-so-kindly donator, as it turned out to be none other than Steve Rendazo. Dumping the chandelier unceremoniously on the lawn, he huffed and slouched away, closing the door with a resounding bang.

"Well, I never thought I'd see the day that I might actually be _thanking_ Jerk-Off Jock for his contribution to society," I shook my head disbelievingly, "But I was wrong. Next slushie is on me."

"Oohh, this is gonna be great!" Leah's grin was wide and her eyes were bright.

We pulled off an artful heist. Midnight came around as Leah and I crept along in the Previa, parking it in front of the Rendazo digs before stealing out onto their front lawn. I admit, we weren't all that quiet. Leah laughed non-stop:

"D'you think Rendazo sleeps naked?" She wondered loudly, straining on her tip-toes, sussing out which window belonged to his bedroom.

"D'you think I _want_ to find out?" I bit back sarcastically.

Leah and I dropped the chandelier three times, maneuvering the barstools into the Previa proved difficult and the chest of drawers had to reside on the back seat. Overall, it was a success.

Our adrenaline pumping, we relocated the furniture to the lawn that was starting to resemble a home without a house. Leah clambered up a tree and affixed the lop-sided chandelier. The barstools were arranged eclectically and I introduced our recently acquired tattered velvet lampshade to the puce-colored chest of drawers.

"Viola!" I proclaimed, holding out my arms and admiring what a good job we had done at adorning Bleeker's lawn. Grass had started to grow through the tiger rug and the couch was soggy from last-night's melted snow. Ah, home sweet home.

"Now it's time to play happy-families. Where's the man of the house?"

I scrounged around in Mrs. Bleeker's attempt at an 'oriental pebble garden' before aiming and hurling a stone in the direction of Bleek's window. _Clink_.

No Bleeker.

Leah and I both threw pebbles this time. _Clink. Clink_.

Still no Bleeker.

"Man, is your boyfriend deaf!" Leah grumbled as she shivered in the cold.

Five pebbles later and the Bleek still hadn't gotten the hint. I huffed with irritation.

"Time for drastic measures…" I uprooted one of Mrs. Bleeker's ceramic dwarves from the pansy-patch and sent it soaring.

_Crash_.

Ceramic pieces shattered everywhere.

Bleeker's window was immediately opened. Dressed in his dorky blue flannelette pajamas, his brown eyes wide, he stared around like a startled deer.

"Who…who's there?"

"Yo Bleek!" I whispered loudly as Leah and I emerged from our hiding place. Bleeker visibly relaxed.

"Juno? Is that you?"

"No. It's Napoleon Dynamite." Leah rolled her eyes sarcastically as we skulked into visibility.

"Um…Juno, should you really be here? I mean, I really want to see you and all but…" His eyes flickered back inside apprehensively.

I rolled my eyes and planted my hands on my hips.

"Sheesh Bleek, grow a spine! Your Mom takes those heavy-duty sleeping pills at, like, 9:15 every night…and its past midnight so she should be dead to the world." I reasoned.

"Look! We've thrown you a home-decorating party!" Leah exclaimed, gesturing to our creative layout, "Bring on the Tupperware!"

Paulie's gaze darted between us hesitantly. He sighed.

"Wait here. I'll be back in a second."

Minutes later Bleeker returned in his winter track sweatshirt, pants and a snowflake beanie pulled over his head. Leah and I watched with fascination as his long, skinny legs clambered over the sash of his window and he shimmied along to the drain pipe.

"You know, if I die doing this, Juno, you're gonna have to live with that on your conscience for the rest of your life!" Bleeker's voice trembled as he edged along the dented railing, clinging on for dear life, "And I mean, I don't really _feel_ like dying. Especially like this. People are gonna ask: 'oh, how did Paulie Bleeker die?' and then people will kinda laugh and say: 'he fell out of his bedroom window.' That's a real _lame_ way to die, June-bug. It's not like I could have died a hero or anything. _No_. It's gotta be: 'he fell out of his bedroom window and got impaled by a thorn…la, la, la.'"

Whilst my boyfriend went on his super-lame rant, he did survive the descent from his bedroom window. As he jogged up to us, his eyes widened in appreciation of our décor skills.

"Wizard…"

"And now, to celebrate…" I rummaged around for a bottle of Smirnoff Ice, "To a swipe well done!"

I didn't think much of our nocturnal adventures until Monday morning, back at school.

Just as I had opened up my locker, I found it slammed shut in my face. An offending hand met my line of sight.

"Well, _excuse_ me!" I held up my hands and backed off, ready to round on my locker-assaulter.

He was there in all his smirking glory.

"So, how'd you enjoy swiping my furniture Friday night, MacGuff?"

I stared at him blankly.

"I would never swipe your furniture, Rendazo." I made my best attempt at an honest expression yet. Rendazo snorted and folded his arms across his chest, blocking my locker-access.

"Come off it, Maternity MacGuff, I can pick out your hot little ass from a mile away." He raised an eyebrow. I made no attempt at disguising the disgust on my face.

"Well, even if I _did_ swipe the furniture, of which we have no concrete evidence for, rest assured that it has gone to a good home." I tried to yank open my locker as Rendazo lazily shuttled from it.

"You owe me big-time for this, MacGuff." I was given a point of the finger and a wink before my tormentor sauntered off. I grabbed my books and shoved them in my shoulder bag.

"Yeah? Well dream big!"

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**_Another chapter as things start to get a little complex. As has been italicised, we have now arrived in the month of 'Winter' in the Junoverse. I do plan on spanning all four months...so yeah, plenty to read kids. Once again, thank you for the reviews, I go into little spasms of delight whenever I get one...so on that note...venture on down to that little button below!  
Sunday Smile _


	6. Like Science Fiction: But Not

Like Science Fiction…But Not.

It must be said that lobster phones…aren't that cool.

They're pretty quirky with their B52s vibe and all (_rock lobster_!) but they hold nothing to my beloved piece of novelty fast-food. Two months on and 'Larry the Lobster' (as I called this extravagant communication device) stuck out like…a boiled lobster against my dying cacti, demented dolls and peeling posters. It occurred to me how much I actually missed that dodgy hamburger.

With great reluctance and some awkwardness (lobster phones aren't the most comfortable to yak on) I picked up the wretched thing and dialed a number I knew so well.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mrs Bleeker, is-"

"Oh. Juno. Paul can't talk at the moment. He shouldn't be distracted from his calculus."

"But-"

"I'm sorry Juno, maybe you should call back at a _better_ time?"

With that, she hung up, the engaged tone blaring in my ear canal. I fought the temptation to redial and shout: 'but it's a SATURDAY!' down the receiver. That would probably result in even more Bleeker-bans.

I sighed and slumped on my bed. My eyes traveled to the window. A pathetic excuse for snow had been gently falling for the past hour but it looked close to stopping. I knew by this afternoon it would be watery mush mixed with dirt and gunk in the gutters. Flexing my toes underneath their stripy socks, I rifled through my record and CD collection, pulling out a random selection of artists. The Pistols, Cat Stevens, Hole, Janis all spread out on my bed. I absently picked up one and pressed play.

_Doll Parts_ lulled quietly as I lay back, staring up at the ceiling and letting depression consume me. As Courtney's broken vocals sang about having doll arms, big veins and being dog bait, I pondered what my life would be like without Bleeker. A barren Arizona wasteland overpopulated by rogue tumbleweed.

It was not pretty.

I was allowing myself to slip under the stream of moroseness as Marky Mark's sex goddess (Courtney Love) rendered me miserable by snarling out 'someday you will ache like I ache' when a whirring noise, followed by a clatter and a mechanic rumble killed all hope of me contemplating my woes and wondering if I should reacquaint myself with behavioral meds. I huffed and stumbled off the bed, thumping my way down the stairs_. Live Through This_ would have to wait.

I stopped in the middle of the stairwell and leaned over the banister. The racket happened to be Bren and the sewing machine.

Bren's got many talents. OK, that's a lie. She got a _few_ talents.

One: a formidable skill in applying nail polish and keeping it _only_ on the nail. She didn't start Bren's Tens because methylmethacrylate is her version of crack. I admire her skill. Whenever I attempt to go color-crazy with my oft-bitten nails I come out looking like I never got the point of coloring _within_ the lines at prep school.

Two: embroidery. We've got dog samplers, dog cushion covers, dog seat covers, dog embroidered purses and even dog decoration on various shirts and hats. Bren's got that weird patience that some freaks have who waste their life on embroidery and knitting.

But that's beside the point. The point is, Bren's great with embroidery with all her needles and baskets of wool and silk and stuff. But she's hopeless with the sewing machine. It's been a love-hate relationship, and often the machine wins. Just as I observed, the contraption stalled.

"God damn you wretched piece of crap!" I heard her exclaim and hit the sewing machine hard.

I smirked and lolled over the banister.

"Yo, Bren-da, could you keep the sewing shenanigans down? It's totally killing my teen angst vibe upstairs."

Bren glanced shrewdly over her shoulder, plucked eyebrows raised and pins sticking out from the corner of her mouth.

"If you don't like it, take your puberty blues elsewhere Prozac Pam," She remarked, returning to the task at hand, "I've gotta get L.B's Christmas costume done by Monday or the P&F will have my guts for garters."

When will narcissistic parents ever realize that elf costumes and Christmas concerts really aren't something kids like Liberty Bell can put down on their future C.V? I can see the interview now: 'Yeah, I'm a Christmas concert veteran. I've been Santa's helper five times over and damn, you should have seen my debut as Rudolph…"

"Looks like you're having a bitchin' great time with the sewing machine." I raised my eyebrows.

Bren narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, taking the pins out and tacking them into the sheeny red fabric.

"Yeah? Well making Santa's elf get-up is a hell of a lot harder than sewing elastic into your jeans, kiddo." She adjusted the machine and squinted, "And if you don't mind, June-bug, you're so-called 'teen angst' mood is killing my vibe…so why don't you share your misery with someone else under 21?"

"Sheesh Bren, you sound like you don't like my company!"

"Not when this piece of shit is involved!" Bren gave the sewing machine a mighty wallop. I knew my cue to leave.

"Well I guess I'll just be leaving then."

"Sure thing honey, don't be late, OK?"

* * *

Without Bleeker or Leah (cheerleading practice), I took to a place where hopefully I could blend in with the masses and no one would notice my solitude.

Ambling past shiny windows filled with glittering junk and crap, I took another bite of my oversized pretzel and wondered what the point of malls were. Crumbs spilled down my battered and worn shirt reading: 'Beware my fortress of DOOOOM!' Besides it, appropriately, was an upturned cardboard box with a flag. Bleek gave me it for my 17th birthday.

I trundled along, scuffing my Chucks and looking at consumerist junk that I didn't want/didn't need/didn't see a point in. A micro foot exfoliator? A new and better way to mow your lawn? Products for erectile dysfunction? No thank you.

Screams of children: delighted squeals to all-out, no-holds back tantrums filled my ears. For a moment I closed my eyes and wondered if Patrick was one of them. It was in alone moments that these thoughts decided to announce themselves, when I usually had nothing else to distract myself. And it was a darn inconvenience.

But then an even bigger inconvenience decided to usurp my thoughts on the child that was not mine.

"So, you really are a girl, huh MacGuff? Y'know, I never thought you were the type to go to the mall…but it looks like you're female after all. Well, that and the pregnancy thing."

I whipped around, half my pretzel falling out of my mouth. I gawked for a moment. Rendazo was slouched on the nearest colonnade, smirking like a douche.

"Hell Rendazo, why don't you give up the stalker act and crawl back to Facebook? You know, I heard it's easier to tail that way." I huffed, stalking past him.

Rendazo gave a low chuckle. His swaggering footsteps followed me. I could catch his irritating reflection in the shiny surfaces of the mall: the glass windows, the sheeny floor, the silver fixtures. No escape.

"Nah, I don't do the online thing. I like it better this way."

I hurried my pace, disposing of my pretzel and hopping onto a descending escalator. To my annoyance, he was not far behind.

"You still owe me that favor, MacGuff." He called after me, descending a few jolty steps until he was in my face.

"Like hell I do!"

"I'm still holding you to it."

"Since when have I ever held up to bargains, even ones I don't agree to? You've seen me. I've failed so many teachers with the homework deal."

"Do you ever not have a comeback for something, MacGuff?"

"My mouth is my defense mechanism, Rendazo, its how I roll."

"How about you practice something else with that mouth of yours…?"

"Ugh. Dream big Jerk-Off Jock. And in case you have forgotten, I have a_boyfriend_."

At this Rendazo gave a derisive snort. Ohh, cue the hairs on the back of my neck to prickle with irritation.

"Bleeker? C'mon MacGuff, you can't be serious about that." His eyes sparkled as we walked off the escalator. I felt my posture stiffen, "I mean, is it just all holding hands and kissy-kissy? Oh yeah, he was the one who got you knocked up right?"

I pursed my lips into a very thin line. If Rendazo crossed the line you betcha I could take him out then and there.

"Sheesh, I remember that. The football squad and I spent months trying to work out how the geek did it! God, we thought he didn't have a dick or something…"

My fists balled up. I wish I had thought before I spoke, but unfortunately sometimes I have a habit to word-vomit:

"Well for your information he is very good-" I cut myself off when Rendazo raised an eyebrow, "…with the guitar and stuff."

There was a pause. Rendazo's gaze was trained on me. I exploded:

"Why the frick are you interested in me, Rendazo?" I waved my arms about a little too melodramatically, "You gave me hell for three years and all of a sudden you want to get in my pants? I don't get it, did you collide with a goal post over the summer or did you suddenly decide that quirky, alternative girls are your flavor of the month?"

Rendazo snorted and stroked his chin.

"Well, I've always had a soft-spot for the children's librarian types…"

"Yeah? Well if that rocks your socks why don't you go and hook up with…Su-Chin or something?! She's cool….in a glasses sort of way and she's like, a hundred times more mental than I am! I swear, if you want messed up girls, she's got your money. I heard she's back on her cocktail of meds-"

"She also thinks 'all babies should be borned' and that George Bush senior is a candidate for the election."

"Yeah…well, she thinks differently. That's cool, guys dig that…"

"Guys don't want pro-life, Ritalin nutbags either."

"Pro-life, Ritalin nutbag? Whoa Rendazo, step back, isn't that a bit harsh? Su-Chin's sweet…and quirky in her own weird way. She's a never-ending source of useless information, think of the possibilities!"

"D'you ever stop talking, MacGuff?"

"Not if given the choice. And if I run out of wisecracks, hell, I'll start babbling in Spanish-"

I never got to finish that sentence as Rendazo swooped down and caught my lips. It was a rough kiss, a bit of a clunk together as he latched onto me, his tongue slithering inside. I jumped out of my skin and tore myself from him. Rendazo straightened, a smug look on his face. I backed away a few steps.

"Hold up! What did you just do?" I demanded.

His smile widened as if it were an invitation.

"You want another demonstration?" He leaned in again.

I gasped and held up my hands, backing away.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Slow down there Casanova! Jeez, who thought you were such a loose lips…"

I trailed off as distant voices caught my attention. The squeals and general ruckus of children could be heard as we had wound up near the children's indoor playground. But one voice in particular caught my attention:

"Look there Marcy! Here comes Patrick and Vanessa! Say hi to Patty darling!"

Now, there could have been any combination of Patricks and Vanessas in this state. Who knows, they could have been twins. Father and daughter. Cousins even! But as soon as I heard their names, my stomach did a triple back flip and then sky-dived for Jesus-nowhere.

As I turned around, my eyes like saucers. It felt like everything was happening in slow motion. Like that scene in _The Matrix_ where the bullets cut through the air. That was an awesome scene, but that's beside the point. My heart started to beat super-fast and for a moment I wondered if I was having an undiagnosed panic-attack…or that I might melt to the floor like the Wicked Witch of the West.

It was Vanessa.

There was no mistaking that wide smile of hers, the flick of her brown hair and her preppy attire. It was then that a sweat broke out on my brow as my eyes traveled to the littler person who held her hand.

Kraken-style freak out: I wondered if it was possible, like in science fiction movies, that when you travel back in time and see yourself the world implodes and splits in two and the apocalypse arrives. But it didn't happen. I found myself staring at a miniature version of me and Bleeker, the product of a chair and a 60's LP…and all I caught of the little tyke was a blur of brown hair.

"He was so excited to be here, Tracey." I heard Vanessa laugh. Her voice sounded relaxed.

"He's quite the runner, isn't he?" Her blonde friend remarked.

I felt a chill shiver up my spine and after my stomach stopped plummeting through the earth, I did what any sane, rational person would do after seeing their child they gave up for adoption two years ago.

I ran.

I ran like hell.

"Hey, MacGuff!" Steven Rendazo called after me as I bolted.

If I had bothered to look back I would have seen him breathe into his hand and wonder aloud: "Was it my breath?"

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Righto, I'm back with a sixth chapter and things start to get dramatic (sort of...almost...getting there)! Once again, thank you for the reviews and keep up with the great feedback, it really makes my day! I hope you have enjoyed the last few installments as reality catches up with Juno in a big way and now she's going to have to get herself out of several interesting situations. Its also past midnight where I am, so I should probably stop rambling and get to bed. Whilst I sleep, wriggle on down to the button below!  
Sunday Smile. _


	7. Parttime Lover, Now Unemployed

Part-time Lover, Now Unemployed

"Hey…June-bug…?"

"Mmmph?"

"Uh…are you OK?"

Bleeker can be pretty clueless at times. Sometimes his expression looks glazed, his chin may quiver a bit and confusion causes his brow to furrow. Other times you know he hasn't quite gotten the point when his only response is: 'Um…yeah.'

That said, the Bleek-ster can also be as sharp as a tack. Take homework for example. And remembering track meets two weeks in advance. Or knowing just when to replace his locker Tic-Tac stash.

Unfortunately this time (and this is one of the few times I consider it unfortunate) he so happened to go all Carmen Sandiego on me ten minutes into _Heathers_. His innocent sleuthing made my stomach join the circus and my palms sweat. Nice going MacGuff, you've got all the subtlety of Maxwell Smart.

"Yeah I'm fine." I snapped my gum and fixed my eyes on the screen.

"Um…you kinda haven't said anything for a while…I…I was just worried…" Bleeker's meek voice trembled from where he was compulsively fiddling with the hem of his shirt. My throat hitched- was I being obvious?

I let out a shaky breath and tried to steel myself.

"I'm cool." I replied shortly, "I just haven't seen _Heathers_ in like…a gazillion years. It's not everyday that you see a movie which could be the reason for the hole in the Ozone layer- check out all that hairspray!"

"Oh…OK then."

I spat out my gum and snapped off another length of licorice rope, chewing it feverishly and pointedly avoiding Bleeker's gaze. I can be a pretty big idiot sometimes. The kind of idiot where everyone slaps their forehead in unison and groans: 'nice going MacGuff!' Yes, this is another thing that you can add to the list of I'm-a-dumbass, hear-me-roar!

"Something's wrong." Paulie's quiet voice interrupted five minutes later. He was staring at me intently.

"No, nothing's wrong."

"Have I done something, Juno? Have I royally cheesed you off…?"

"No. It's OK Bleek." I sighed through gritted teeth. The guilt in my stomach started to bubble and I wondered if Coke and licorice rope was a good idea, "I guess I just had…I dunno, a bit of a bummer week, that's all."

"Are you ticked that I wasn't there or…well…yeah?" Bleeker chewed on his lower lip, as if bracing himself for a blow.

Guilty bile and angry heat rose up in one great flash like a science project volcano gone awry. It was as if I had ripped off a dirty Band-Aid the wrong way.

"Well, yeah, apart from the fact that I haven't seen you for, I don't know, _three weeks_, I've had a pretty shit week thank you very much. First your Mom treats me like I'm some sort of Satan-worshipping Bleeker-bandit and my lobster phone is really clashing with the vibe of my room. And then that super-prick Rendazo just so happened to kiss me the other day, but that's besides the point…but the _major_ ticking off happened to be, and wait for it-"

Bleeker's brown eyes had widened and his chin started to quiver.

"How…how is Steve Rendazo kissing you beside the point, Juno?" He spoke softly. He looked like I had handed him an eviction notice or something.

"It was nothing, Bleek. Jerk-Off Jock's got no perception of personal space." I waved it off, trying to keep calm and casual as I could see my boyfriend visibly shatter.

"I…I didn't even know he liked you…" Bleeker whispered, his brow furrowing in irritation, more towards himself than anything else.

"Yeah, well it was the revelation of the century. Rendazo got lip-happy with that once-pregnant chick, big whoop." I replied dryly.

"If…if I had been there…" Bleeker was shaking his head in an attempt at 'protective boyfriend mode.'

That was when I lost it. Just as one of the Heather's choked on detergent (one of the best bits: _blaaaahhh_, cleaning agent! Die! Die!) I could no longer concentrate on the screen and whipped around to my wimp of a boyfriend.

"_If_ you had been around? I don't know if you noticed Bleeker, but you kinda haven't been around for the past month!" I snapped, exuding the definition of 'cheesed to the utmost.'

"Don't be mad, June-bug." Bleeker shrank back before taking a deep breath.

"Don't be mad, huh? Sheesh Bleek, sometimes I wonder if our getting-together was like, severe airplane-syndrome or something." I remarked with an arched eyebrow. Bleeker looked bewildered.

"Airplane…what?"

"Y'know, airplane-syndrome. Like people who get together when they think the plane's gonna crash and they're going to be with the person sitting next to them for the rest of their life. Fools. Well, I guess me being up the spout was our airplane."

Bleeker blinked. He looked taken aback.

"I…I didn't just decide to go out with you because…you know, you were pregnant." He maintained.

"Oh yeah? And me waddling around school like a beach ball didn't make you feel kinda guilty and responsible in the slightest?" I sneered.

"That's really not fair. I've liked you since we were fifteen, and that's a fact. And I felt heaps guilty as soon as I found out you were pregnant, but we didn't get together that month, did we? _No_, you had to go ahead and break my heart and then get super-bitchy when I decided to take Katrina to the prom! And then it was only like, four months later that you finally decided that you loved me…"

"And do you still love me?"

"Yes!" Bleeker exclaimed breathlessly, confusion and frustration playing tug-of-war with his features, "I've loved you since we were sixteen, June-bug."

"Yeah? Then where the hell were you when I was at the mall? Why weren't you there when Rendazo decided to have a game of tonsil hockey and, goddamit Bleek, why weren't you by my side when I saw _him_!" I felt tears involuntarily sting my eyes. Damn those tear-ducts, I would have them surgically altered if I could.

Bleeker went deathly quiet.

"You're being really immature. You know I've gotta study."

I let out an angry hiss between my teeth.

"Oh, right, like _you're_ the only one in Dancing Elk who has to study! Well if you happen to have forgotten, both Leah and I have exams as well! We don't seem to be in study lock-down mode!"

"It's not my fault, Juno. I've got college to consider-"

Bleeker's seemingly innocent defense cut me in a place I hadn't even considered.

"And you don't think I have the same sort of aspirations?" I narrowed my eyes and wrinkled my brow.

Bleeker's eyes widened with realization and panic.

"Juno, I didn't mean it like-"

"No, I get it." I interrupted bitterly, heaving myself off the beanbag. Bleeker scrambled after me, "It's what your Mom thinks, it's what the doctor thinks, it what every damn soul-sucker in Dancing Elk thinks! I was a pregnant teen, hey, I might as well add high school drop out to my list! Or even better: I failed my final exams!"

"Juno, you know I don't think-" Bleeker called after me as I marched towards the basement stairs leading up to the Bleeker household.

"Ah, ah! Don't risk talking to me, Bleek, you know I've got a _rep_ to uphold! I mean, why else do you think you're Mom looks at me like I'm some kind of a rash? Or that everyone around here thinks I'm being groomed to be Rollo's replacement behind the drugstore counter? Have you noticed that no one but Crazy Cuthbert has asked what _I_ want to do with my future? Everyone's like: 'oh Paulie Bleeker, he wants to get into an Ivy League college!' but me, it's just: 'oh, Juno MacGuff, she was the one that got knocked up at sixteen!'"

Bleeker's expression had crinkled.

"Why…why are you acting like this, June-bug…are...are you jealous…?"

I sucked the spittle through my teeth. I rolled my eyes dramatically.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fucking jealous! I'm _totally_ envious that I'm not the one who is loaded up with exam papers and a Nazi Mom and hasn't even got time to see their freaking girlfriend! I'm just writhing on the floor here because I'm the one who hasn't had some jerk try to stick his tongue down their throat and then so happened to run into their biological son! Yeah Bleek, you know, I totally want your life."

Amongst my tirade, something registered with Bleeker.

"Patrick…?" He swallowed, appearing paler (if it were possible since he'd already whitened when I decided to be the evil, mean bitch he always knew he'd never marry).

"Nice to know you're listening to see what I've been dealing with." I huffed snarkily.

"What…what about Patrick…?" Bleeker gulped, steadying himself as we faced off.

I rolled my eyes and pretended to be blasé about the whole thing, although Bleeker damn well knew I was simmering like a pot almost on boil.

"Oh, you know, it wasn't a big deal and all. Just saw Vanessa at the mall and then, _wham-bam!_ I cop an eyeful of the progeny I never knew! Apparently he takes after his father. He's got a good set of legs on him."

Bleeker instinctively looked down on his jean-clad legs and then looked back up at me.

"But…what could I have done?" He concluded meekly then took another deep breath, "It's not like I could have prevented it, June-bug!"

"Yeah? Well you could have at least _been_ there! Sometimes I wonder if you're still my boyfriend-"

"Please don't say that Juno…"

"- because the year's not even up and you're already in maximum isolation! I'm not gonna wait around just to get my once-every-fortnight dose of Paulie Bleeker!"

"What do you mean, Juno?"

"What I mean, Bleek, is that its fine if you want to put all your time into your exams and college, 'cause dammit, you're probably gonna get out of Dancing Elk as fast as you can and end up in, I don't know, Boston or someplace! And where am I going to be, huh? I'm probably still going to be here, kicking around and swiping old furniture sets. Maybe with you gone I could probably get a proper band started! Tino's a shit drummer and you're not much better on guitar-"

"You're being really selfish, Juno."

"Well at least I make the effort to see my boyfriend!" I hollered, my fists clenched and tears stinging my eyes. I was being an idiot. A royal idiot. But since when did sense ever tap me on the shoulder in these moments?

Bleeker was silent, his lips pursed into a thin line and recoiled like he had been punched. I let out an angry huff and flailed my arms.

"Look, forget it Bleek. Forget the whole thing!" I pushed my brown hair out of my face and sighed.

"Are you breaking up with me?" Bleeker ventured from across the room.

I swallowed and lifted my gaze to his. I suddenly realized how tall he had gotten. Unshed tears made my throat ache and my eyes throb.

"Yeah," My voice faltered, "I think I am."

If we had played that scene in slow motion I would have seen Bleeker visibly crumble. But he had more pride than to fall in a heap at my feet. His brown eyes were glazed and he had chewed at his lower lip furiously. He had lifted his chin bravely.

There was silence. The most awkward silence ever imagined.

Bleek was the first one to break the stand-off.

"Well…" He swallowed and scratched the back of his neck, "What now…?"

I sniffed and rubbed the cuff of my jumper across my eyes to disguise the tears that had begun to fall.

"Oh, I don't know," My voice quavered as I tried to keep up my indifferent façade, "I guess I'll just see myself out."

Bleeker was silent. Frozen to the spot.

I shuffled my Chucks and turned away from him, starting up the stairs.

"See you at school, Bleek."

* * *

Of all the nights, this night had to be the worst. Suddenly, I was Bleeker-less, and it was like a fog had descended upon me. I didn't remember stalking my way home, bundled in my layers against the wintry cold, tears flooding down my cheeks, my vision blurred and choked sobs hiccupping from me every once in a while. I didn't remember fishing around for the Previa keys in Bren's Labrador bowl. 

I was surprised that after two years I still knew the way.

The old Previa trundled down the impossibly clean streets of Toy-Town, Jesus-Nowhere. McMansion after McMansion rolled by and I could still pick out the Loring residence from every other landscaped, security-gated, faux-Neo-Classical cardboard-cutout in this place. It still looked the same, except the hedges weren't as neat, the lawn didn't look exactly even and one of the lamps leading up the pathway had blown. A toy truck had been abandoned in the front yard.

I pulled a U-turn and turned off the ignition in shrouded darkness. Lights had started to come on in the neighboring houses, showing off their pristine decorating schemes and walls painted Baby Blush pink. Two downstairs and one upstairs room glowed in the Loring house. A lanky, unmistakably female shadow stretched against the custard colored walls in the upstairs room.

Vanessa.

I swallowed and let out a shaky sigh. My eyes, puffy and sore, squinted in the darkness. Why was I doing this to myself? Talk about rubbing salt into the wound.

My mind started to whir with the possibilities. Glancing at the little dashboard clock, 6:45, I started to wonder about the activities that would take place in abode of Vanessa Loring. Would dinner have been cooked and eaten? Would Patrick have been bathed? Was it time for a bedtime story about trucks, dogs, robots, balloons or whatever he liked? Would she wish him goodnight, kiss the top of his head and leave the night-light on?

My fingertips paused at the latch of the Previa door. I was tempted to open it, march up the pathway and announce myself with my signature knock on the door.

But then I stopped. Two years.

They've had their own lives, I have mine. And if I arrived unannounced, Vanessa would probably summon Gerta Rauss…and _nobody_ wants that.

I banged my head against the steering wheel.

"Fuck this!" I reprimanded myself and brought the Previa into rumbling life.

Stealing one last look at Vanessa's utopia, I floored the accelerator. Back to my shit-hole in Dancing Elk.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Firstly I would like to say thank you to the amazing response I have gotten for this little fiction! All I can really say is: wow, you guys are awesome! Secondly: Juno/Bleeker fans, please don't skewer me and roast me alive! You'll just have to stay tuned to see what happens next._

_I have planned for a while to make the following chapter from Bleeker's perspective. It's time to hear from our Golden Boy, I say. So keep reading, trundle on down to that button below and let me know what you think/ vent your frustration and prompt me to write a little faster.  
Sunday Smile. _


	8. The Golden Boy

The Golden Boy

_Bleeker:_

There was silence when she left. I could hear her footsteps thumping up the stairs and my front door slam. The slam of the door, a final, loud goodbye, triggered a tear to seep from the corner of my eye.

"But…but I still love you." I whispered, more to myself than to my departed girlfriend. Wait. _Ex_-girlfriend.

I don't really know how long I stood there. If pressed to estimate I would say it was about 36 minutes, rounding up the seconds. But then I read somewhere that the perception of time can be warped and la, la, la, so it's more like a guesstimate. All I know was that it was awkward. Royally awkward. How can someone be awkward with themselves?

Juno said that with me almost anything is possible. Even being self-awkward.

Juno. My June-bug.

I guess I get a bit ticked at her way of making a drama out of everything. Like she's the only one that has feelings, you know? She did it that time when she found out I was taking Katrina de Voort to the prom. It's like she conveniently forgets that _I_ have emotions too. And then when I decide to suck up all my courage and do something that I think 'hey, maybe this might spell the end of awkward Bleeker'…she goes off at me like a volcano.

There's no winning with Juno. She always makes it seem like its all my fault and tra-la-la, and then I end up feeling guiltier than I started with.

But I still love her.

Even when she has to have the last word in every conversation. Even when she decides to get witty in moments where I don't think it's appropriate. And even when she punches a little too hard and I get a bruise that lasts for a week.

I still love her like the dweeb I am.

I stared around the basement, suddenly at a loss of what to do next.

I didn't feel that sort of rip-your-heart-out-crushing-loss that Josh and Amanda exclaim over in chemistry (I personally think they are a little _too_ dramatic and I would have swapped chem. doubles years ago, but hey, June-bug thought they added 'flair' to our experiments…who was I to argue?).

I just felt…empty.

It was weird.

I let out a sigh, shuffling over to the beaten up couch. The movie was still going, throwing illuminated flickers in the dim basement atmosphere. I picked up the remote and turned off the T.V. The silence buzzed.

I picked fluff off my jumper. I snapped a thread off the couch. I scanned the ceiling for new water stains. I pointedly avoided The Chair.

The Chair that started it all. I suppose Juno would think that's my fault too. As a matter of fact, it wasn't. I mean, I only_fantasized_ about June-bug and I finally getting together (over her yearbook photo no less…but, um, you don't really need to know about that. It makes me kind of embarrassed…). _I_ wasn't the one who decided making out with Paulie Bleeker would be better than watching _Blair Witch_.

Leah told me a year ago that Juno had wanted to do me ever since I passed her that postcard in Spanish class. It's like she came up with a whole elaborate scheme and I was the hapless pawn! And then she made out that it was _my_ fault that my virginity resided under her sweater for nine months.

I guess there are a lot of things I could be bitter about.

But I'm not.

I'm Paulie Bleeker. I get on with the job.

You know, there are things other than girls. Like…um…track meets and straight A's…and doughnuts, can't forget the doughnuts. There's a whole life out there other than the opposite sex!

Maybe its time for Paul J. Bleeker to show some resilience…I guess.

I mean, I could graduate top of my class at Dancing Elk and Yale. I might make the Olympic sprint team. I could be the guy that people say: 'Paulie Bleeker, he's an awesome dude!' or 'The Bleekster, man! He's one cool cat!'…well, something like that. I haven't decided on the wording yet. But you get the idea.

For once in my life I could be cool and all other related adjectives without even having to try hard!

Problem is…I thought that was what I was to Juno.

I thought I was golden.

Now the only thing golden about me are my shorts.

It was her fault really. I was just being the dutiful boyfriend, you know, doing as boyfriends do (or at least I think they do…because Juno and I aren't exactly normal) by asking what was up. How was I supposed to know that Juno's life was like _The Bold and the Beautiful_ and _Days of Our Lives_ squared? I just thought she had a menstrual migraine or something. At least I was hoping it to be a menstrual migraine instead of this royally huge screw-up…

The basement air suddenly felt claustrophobic, like I was drinking soup instead of breathing. I hope I'm not having another of my panic asthma attacks again…I don't remember where I left my inhaler.

Stumbling upstairs, I lurched into my bedroom, collapsing on my racecar bed. Study guides, practice exam sheets, course expectations and college applications went flying and descended upon me like big sheets of snow.

If I wasn't careful I could get a paper cut.

Minutes of nothingness passed. My mind was blank, my eyes were fixed on the ceiling and I didn't move. And then, a thought barraged me.

I swiftly sat up and rummaged through my top drawer, terry-towel wrist bands and clean running socks catapulting to the floor. I burrowed further, my fingers prying for my prize.

I pressed her panties to my nose.

I know it sounds gross, but it's the only thing I could think of doing at this time. It's a weird smell. Her sweat and the strange scent girls have with the mucus-y stuff that comes out of them (between you and me…it kind of freaks me out…) but now with the added odor of mothballs and my sweaty socks. Two years on and those panties are looking a little threadbare from the repeated nights where I would scrunch them up into a little ball and wind my fingers through them.

I know it sounds sick, I know it sounds sad and I know you're thinking 'jeez Bleeker, get a life!' but I guess my only explanation is that those panties are like my little, private piece of Juno.

Sure, over two years of being together I have accumulated many other bits and bobs of her life. They litter my room like a haphazard shrine. My room has become a storage facility for Juno detritus. Like all the stuff she forgets and doesn't care about somehow winds up in my room where I treasure it.

Breaking up is so not wizard.

My room looks like some archaeologist's paradise dedicated to Juno and in the last twenty minutes my years of accumulating have suddenly become…well…useless. It's all just junk now, I guess.

Pulling an old Converse shoebox out from underneath my bed, I dusted it off and started searching around for anything that reminded me of Juno.

Her panties went in first, then the yearbook. Guitar pick, scrunched up sheet music, hair ties, the jumper she gave me, a weird half-dead cactus thing, her subversive Valentine's card, a broken egg-timer she swiped in the shape of a tomato, old school notes she brought over that last time I had the flu for a week and an empty Coke bottle she had squiggled designs on in black marker. CDs she had burnt or leant me, adding to my 'musical education.' I scoured my room for everything Juno-esque and tried to squeeze it into the box.

Wiping my brow, I sprawled myself on the end of my bed, looking at the box. It was bursting like one of those frightening Jack-In-The-Box toys. I heaved a defeated sigh.

How could I shove everything that reminded me of Juno into a box? It's not like that would help me forget her…not that I want to forget her. I mean, I'll see her everyday at school. And I still love her…so yeah.

I was about to tip the box upside down when there was a knock on my door.

"Puppy…?" My Mom's head poked around the door. She never waits for me to answer.

I didn't answer her, merely picked through my Juno treasures absently, wondering what to do with them.

"What are you doing there, honey? Haven't you got a math quiz to study for tomorrow?" Mom's voice prompted and I huffed a sigh that caused me to hunch over.

"I studied for that one this afternoon. I promise I'll do some revision before I go to bed."

Mom clicked her tongue and made a little noise.

"Are you OK, Paulie?"

"I'm fine Mom."

Mom hesitated.

"I saw Juno MacGuff leave…are you sure this isn't-"

"No, Mom. Everything's cool."

"She looked upset, Puppy…did something happen…?"

"She always looks upset, Mom." I replied a little sharper than I would have liked. She arched an eyebrow. I hastily blurted out an excuse, "You know, she gets upset when there isn't a _Thunderbirds_ marathon…it was a real bummer."

I could tell my mother wasn't satisfied. She wears that funny little expression, like a squint crossed with a grimace, but she won't say anything.

"You had better come downstairs for dinner, Paulie. I've made mac and cheese."

I nodded and regarded her blankly. I didn't feel hungry, oddly.

"Um, great. I'll be down in a second."

The door clicked shut and my mother's heavy footsteps descended the staircase. I flopped back onto my bed with a resounding sigh, grabbing one of my pillows.

I contemplated if death by feathers would be a noble way to go.

Not really, as it's not that dramatic. Everyone gets remembered if they die of a drug overdose, are at the wrong end of a bullet or fall off a cliff…

Killing yourself with a pillow would just be kind of soft…and lame.

Juno would probably say licorice rope is a better idea.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** And there we have it Bleeker fans. Capturing Bleeker's voice for more than a few dialogue lines was an interesting experience as I've been quite used to being in Juno's head and having 'Juno thoughts.' I hope I did him justice in this rather pickly situation. For all those who enjoyed that, Bleeker's wonderful voice will be reappearing in later installments, either as whole chapters or snippets. I'm also toying with the idea of writing a Bleeker-exclusive fiction sometime in the near future._

_Please, let me know what you think! Reviews make my day and pave the way for faster updates...so follow the yellow brick road to that button below!  
Sunday Smile. _


	9. Sucks, Big Time

…Sucks, Big Time

_One month later…_

_SPRING_

It had been a month from today since I officially told Bleeker that his services were no longer required. And it sucked, big time.

Spring decided to wake up in sleepy Dancing Elk. It doesn't really matter what season we are in because the population wears long sleeves all year round.

Leah, however, decided to celebrate in her own special way.

"What's that?"

I tilted my big, retro sunglasses down my nose and peered over them. Leah was wearing a 100 watt smile and I was waiting for her to blow like a light bulb.

"Shove over MacGuff." She snickered, almost clambering on top of me as I scooted across the bleacher.

"Sweet Stooges…" I exclaimed in a melodramatic whisper, "It's_magnificent_!"

"Behold, my good friend," Leah gestured wildly, "our salvation and cure for sexual frustration!"

"Huzzah to that!" I raised my eyebrows and smirked. I was impressed with Le's efforts.

We could not have welcomed spring in a better fashion. Sure, come summer, our dentists will probably inform us of newly developed cavities, but to hell with that, we're livin' for the now! If someone could die of an ice cream overdose, this would probably be it.

"I just told him to put everything on it…" Leah mumbled whilst slurping up a rogue drip that dribbled down the cone, "You know, that ice cream boy is kinda cute…in a pimply way. I'm sure he's got potential past those braces…you went out with Bony Bleek, why can't you dig Metal-Mouth Matt?"

Leah's smile widened. Thank God she was kidding otherwise she would have been fishing ice cream sprinkles out of her hair for the next two weeks. I gave her a warning glare.

"Metal-Mouth Matt is twenty and his voice still hasn't broken. Sorry Le, I like guys who have been through puberty."

"Your loss." Leah shrugged playfully, crunching through the layers of topping precariously loaded onto our ice cream cones.

Every possible topping was crammed onto a vanilla base. A splooge of chocolate sauce, flakes of chocolate, crumbled peanuts, multi-colored sprinkles galore, mini marshmallows and those tiny silvery-ball things that people use on cakes. It was a preschooler's wet dream, every mother's nightmare and our triumph. I'm sure Bren would later assert that it was 'tooth decay waiting to happen, kiddo!'

We crunched through it, ice creamy goodness dribbling sticky trails down our chins, rimming our lips and splattering shamelessly on our jeans. We looked like we never left prep-school, but it was honestly the best sugar rush I'd ever gotten. The sugar hit me like someone had used a baseball bat, my heart decided to perform gymnastics and my arteries felt completely buzzed.

"So, what're we celebrating?" I asked as I licked my sticky fingers.

Le arched an eyebrow.

"C'mon, we have to be celebrating something. You don't go and blow two hour's worth of wages at the Dancing Elk Diner on the mother of all ice creams for nothing!" I elaborated, slurping up some chocolate sauce.

Leah started to look uneasy. She shrugged.

"Early birthday present?" She suggested brightly.

I regarded my best friend critically.

"My 18th is a month away. What's twisting your knickers?"

"Nothin'…" Leah mumbled, her eyes darting away briefly, "Y'know, I can't believe Su-Chin's a Scientologist now."

"Su-Chin is a wingnut who changes her beliefs as regularly as she updates that crazy glasses prescription of hers." I retorted dryly, letting my critical gaze unnerve her further, "And she's definitely not conversation-worthy, so what's up?"

Leah sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Well, I _was_ trying to sweeten the blow," She huffed dramatically, "So don't shoot the messenger, 'kay?"

Leah was nervously fiddling with her loose braid, curls falling free from it. She pushed her sunglasses further up her nose like a fugitive. My stomach did a back flip. Leah was usually carefree about even the most serious of issues:

She got an F on her Biology exam: "Meh! It's not like I'm going to_need_ biology! Since when was photosynthesis important?"

When I told her I was remaining pregnant: "But you are going to have to, like,_tell_ people you are pregnant!"

Her parents split up last year: "D'you know what that means, Juno? Two of everything! Think on it: two wardrobes, two hair straighteners, two CD collections! Wicked awesome!"

Blair Mulvaney, Dancing Elk star quarterback, 'broke her heart' after their tempestuous two month relationship: "He suffered from premature ejaculation anyway. And besides, he's got _nothing_ on Simon."

Leah's sudden _consideration_ of people's feelings had me immediately on edge.

"What is it, Le?"

She cleared her throat.

"You promise you won't go all kraken on me and grow three heads?" She laughed uneasily.

I narrowed my eyes. Her laughter died and she gave a defeated sigh.

"Well, OK," She began blithely, "It so happens that I heard from an undisclosed source that Skinny-Legs is going out with Squint-Eye."

_Splat_.

I didn't even realize that my ice cream had fallen to its death on my shoe.

"Bleeker and de Voort?" I choked, my stomach starting to feel like a hollow cavern.

Leah gave me a sympathetic smile and nodded slowly.

"The very same," She confirmed it, "I mean, don't blame me, you're lucky I keep my ear to the ground and told you before Rollo the drugstore dude sprung it on you whilst you were paying for a Super Slushie."

I blinked. My hands, holding an empty cone, had started to tremble.

"But…but that's just not possible!" I exclaimed.

"'Fraid it is, J. All sorts of weird things happen…that's just one of them."

"But it's just so…._wrong_! I mean he _told_ me he didn't like her! She smells like soup and her face is constantly in stink-eye mode and she totally went ballistic when she found out The Bleek and I got together…it's just…ugh!" I sulked, jumping up off the bleacher and stalking across the athletics track. The track team overwhelmed me in their stampede of maroon and gold.

"Hey! Juno, wait up!" Leah jogged after me, finishing off the last of her ice cream, "C'mon, you can't be that cut up about it, you were the dump-_er_ remember, not the dump-_ee_."

Tears stung my eyes as I whirled around to Leah. She bounced back several steps, surprised at the look of hurt and anger across my features.

"Yeah?" I snapped, "Well Bleek and I went out for _two years_, Le. Two whole frickin' years! He knocked me up, dammit, and I thought it was going to be forever and now he can just replace me a month later like I'm his worn running socks!"

I was seething. And everyone was going to know about it.

* * *

To say Bleeker was surprised to see me would have been the understatement of the year. The past month we had avoided each other like the plague, especially at school.

Occasionally we would pass each other in the corridor, normally with a "'sup?" or an awkward "um, hi" and the only time we had to spend more than five minutes with each other was lab class where our interaction normally consisted of "pass the test tube" and "are you sure that's hydrochloric acid?" Unfortunately for us, Josh and Amanda had stopped fighting for the first time in nine months and radiated an aura of 'smooshy couple':

"Isn't he gorgeous? Don't you just think he's gorgeous?"

"Amanda, you're making me embarrassed…I really like your lipstick today."

It was enough to make me gag. _Blah_.

After ducking into the girl's bathroom to wipe away the angry tears, I sidled up to Bleeker's open locker and braced myself for his shock when he closed the door and turned around. It didn't disappoint.

"Um, hi Juno." He straightened immediately, his brown eyes grew.

I swear his voice squeaked up a notch. He was nervous and/or terrified. It would have been hilarious had I not been so damn pissed off.

"What're you playing at, Bleeker?" I hissed, folding my arms over my worn shirt of The Smiths.

Bleeker's eyes widened further, stealing glances over each shoulder and confusion plastered all over him.

"I…I don't know…um…I'm not playing anything…I think." He stuttered.

"Oh yeah?" I snarled, fighting back those stubborn tears, "Well a little birdie named Leah happened to drop the A-bomb that you and Soup Girl of the Year so happen to be slightly more than friends."

I threw in a glare for effect. Bleeker gulped.

"Oh…that." He admitted quietly.

"Yeah,_that_." I retorted bitterly, "When were you going to tell me Bleek, or did you think it was going to completely slip under my radar? I mean, Jesus, you could have asked her out the day after we broke up and got your kicks out of a secret tryst or something!"

"No!" Bleeker protested, baffled and affronted, "I mean, Katrina and I only agreed…you know…this week. I _was_ going to tell you."

"Yeah, well a little warning would have been appreciated. How about: 'hey Juno, I've found your replacement already, better get a move on!'"

"I would have never done that! And…and she's not your replacement."

"Well what _is_she?" I demanded. I was getting worked up when I usually would have kept my cool.

Old Juno would have shrugged her shoulders and gone 'no biggie'…but no, it seems indifferent old MacGuff has been replaced by a hormonal bitch. It was fo' shiz weird.

"Um…I don't know! She's just…_her_!" Bleeker defended himself lamely, "I don't know why you're getting so ticked, June-bug, I mean, _I_ wasn't the one who ended our relationship. And…and I think I have, you know, every right to move on!"

"I broke up with you because I hardly _saw_ you! But it seems your Mom _loves_ Katrina because suddenly you have all the time in the world to worship her…even if she does have bad body odor and a squint!"

"You just don't like her because you never got the time to get to know her, Juno. You know, you can be really judgmental like that. Katrina's actually really nice-"

"Yeah, well she can go shove her 'niceness' up her-"

I was cut off when a clacking of heels distracted us. Bleeker tried to smile but it looked more like a nervous grimace and my mood became stormier.

"Paulie!" Katrina, all preppy-ness, blond hair and a suspicious B.O. despite how much perfume she wore, chirped and linked arms with _my_ boyfriend (OK…ex-boyfriend).

Her expression fell as soon as she saw me giving her a death glare that could freeze hell over and returned it in kind.

"Juno." She pouted and raised her eyebrows snarkily.

I grunted in her direction. I turned to Bleeker.

"Well have fun with your little girlfriend, Bleeker," I plastered a thin veneer of brightness on my face when in reality it was all sarcasm, "I hope she's wearing nice panties so you can add them to your collection."

I only stuck around long enough to see Bleeker pale several shades before stalking off.

* * *

Today officially sucked.

Rollo was being his unhelpful best at the Dancing Elk drugstore.

"Watch out, it's Hurricane MacGuff. What's up your nether regions, Crime Dog, 'cause it sure ain't no boner!" Rollo quirked an eyebrow and leered over the counter. I shot him a glare and headed straight for the mass-produced confectionary rack.

"Shut your gob, Geriatric Jim…what? You've gotta be kidding me!" I exclaimed in exasperation, whipping around to the world's most deranged drugstore clerk, "Raspberry Twists and Caramel Marshmallows, that's _all_ you've got? Where's the Licorice Rope, old man?"

I held up the packets and glared. Rollo shrugged indifferently and pretended to pick at his nails.

"Well, officially we have run out of stock…" He informed, "But that excludes the stash I currently have under the counter."

I barreled up to the cashier and slammed my palm on the counter surface.

"Hand it over." I demanded.

Rollo arched his eyebrows and regarded me with contempt.

"You kids with your lack of manners and Licorice Rope addictions…" He muttered.

"Don't make me jump over there and get it!" I growled.

Rollo huffed sulkily and slapped a packet on the counter.

"That's the last one we've got 'till we re-stock on Monday, kiddo, so eat it wisely." He rang up the sale on the cashier.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." I mumbled, handing over the cash and ripping into the packet, making my way out.

Behind me, I heard Rollo snort.

"And not even a 'thank you'! You know, drugstore clerks have feelings too!" He called after me.

I trudged all the way home. Usually I would amble lazily, or saunter, sipping my Sunny D or chewing my licorice rope at my leisure, but today had sucked so badly that I just wanted to sprawl on my bed and turn my music up _really_ loud.

As I made my way down my street, the cherry blossoms starting to brace themselves for a summer bloom, I eyed off a ramshackle, dust-covered Kombi van parked out the front of my house. It felt unnervingly familiar.

Stomping up the front path, I stopped dead when I found Bren leaning on the front pillar, her eyes glazed, plucked eyebrows arched and a cigarette between her manicured fingernails. She took a long drag and exhaled lazily. I regarded her warily. Bren only smoked when something was seriously up. Like the time she and Dad had that major spat three years ago, or the day she found out L.B. had to go on breathings meds.

Her eyes snapped my way and she smirked ruefully.

"Looks like you had a great day there, kid." Her gaze scanned me up and down. I realized I was still wearing the scowl that had been on my face since Leah decided that 'truth' was better than 'dare.'

"You're lookin' pretty chipper there yourself." I replied, adjusting my heavy shoulder bag. My brows furrowed as faint voices floated out from the bowels of the house, "Who's inside?"

Bren lifted an eyebrow and pursed her lips into a thin line.

"See for yourself, hon."

The voices became louder as I shuffled inside. Liberty Bell gave me a startled look as I clumped my bag onto the floor. Light poured out from the kitchen. I entered the doorway.

I was dazzled by three replacement smiles and a lazy leer. I stumbled backwards. My treasured licorice rope hit the floor.

"Mom…?"

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**_ I'm am pretty amazed by the response this is getting! You are all wonderful in my opinion and keep up the great feedback, it makes me chirpy like no tomorrow (and gets me writing prolifically)! I'm glad the Bleeker chapter was generally well-received, I was fairly nervous about that one, but it seemed quite a few approved! When I get a Bleeker storyline up and going, you will definitely be hearing about it! In the meanwhile, trot on down to the button below!  
Sunday Smile _


	10. Replacement Smiles

Replacement Smiles

Welcome to the part of my family that you never properly met. The most you saw of them last time were a couple of freaky looking smiles, a dustbowl located in Arizona and a whole lot of cacti.

I now give you the opportunity to run. Run, I say! Head for the hills where the dinosaurs live and King Kong retired! Believe me, once you meet my mother's portion of the family you'll think playing poker with a triceratops is no big deal.

They make my cobbled-together family in Dancing Elk look conventional. Brenda with her dog obsession, Dad with his passion for Heating and Air Con, Liberty Bell with her dancing class and my teenage pregnancy seem as quaint as a The Brady Bunch compared to what Mom came up with. She has also achieved the impossible of making 'Juno' and 'Liberty Bell' sound as normal as 'Jane' and 'Sarah.'

That's my Mom over there. The one with the bangles and the bad dress sense. It's as if she went on a rampage in a cheap hippy shop. Her hair used to be the same as mine: straight and mousey brown, except now she's put so many chemicals through it that even Bren would wince. Bottle blonde is the color of choice this time, a little frizzy and over-permed. Oh, and her name's Cynthia. Cynthia Parker.

Her name used to be Cynthia MacGuff. Before that it was Cynthia Bryant. But ever since she ditched Dad and me in Dancing Elk for 'the love of her life', she took on the name of Trailer Park Parker.

And who is the man she up and left for, you ask? That's him over there, with that downright lecherous leer. Ugh, he makes my skin crawl.

The abridged version of my abandonment recounted one night when Dad had too much to drink informed me that Mom fell head over heels for Dwight Parker because, and I quote: "He was an _artist_!"

Dwighty-boy kept to his word.

He actually _is_ an artist.

The type of artist that puts up billboards saying '60 miles to the next Maccas', that is.

But whatever it was, maybe it was the smile or the fact that billboard glue can make you hallucinate, he sure was a hell of a lot better than my Dad in her eyes.

She didn't waste any time in moving out. I vaguely remember her sitting at the end of my bed, wringing her hands and whispering:

"You just need to follow you're heart, darlin'…it doesn't mean I love you any less and I promise, I _promise_ I will visit."

Twelve years later and Mom kept to her promises like Leah swears she will do her history homework. It never happened.

I received my first cactus on Valentine's Day when I was seven. I guess she thought I would think it was kind of cool and maybe forget the fact that she didn't come back to visit that year.

Eleven cacti later, the gesture is wearing kinda thin.

But enough about me, onto The Replacements. Mom and Dwight lost no time in populating the world with their DNA, as the very same year she high-tailed out of Dancing Elk, Juno Replacement Number 1 made it's first squalling cries.

Every single one of them have their father's unnerving smiles.

Juno Replacement Number 1, otherwise known as Zyanya Pheonix Parker, is almost twelve. Dwight and Mom really got into the Native American naming bent, making me glad that Dad had a fetish for bitchy Roman goddesses at the time I was born. Zy is the bored looking one with pimples and greasy hair. I used to call her 'Alien' because her name sounds like some sort of galaxy queen out of Star Trek and her eyes are big and spooky looking. Mom insists that her name means 'forever and always' in Nahuatl. Pity that my name was after the wife of Jupiter otherwise Mom might have stuck around longer.

Juno Replacement Number 2 is Bella-Rain Parker, shortened to Bell-Ray for some weird reason. She's six, the same age I was when Mom pissed off from Dancing Elk, but unfortunately I see no signs of abandonment in B.R.'s eyes. She has annoyingly bouncy blonde pigtails, which is weird considering Dwight's hair is oily black and Mom's is the same color as mine. I can only hope that Mom had an affair that will soon cause the family to spontaneously combust. Unfortunately for Bell-Ray, she's got that same freaky smile that her dad has, so she must be family.

The last addition to the Replacement Family is Joaquin River Parker. This time Mom didn't try to get all Native American and 'one with the earth.' She ripped those names right off the actors. He's not even three and already creepy. Out of all my half-siblings, he has to be the scariest.

After twelve years of desertion, photos of the Replacements playing happy families every Christmas and another Valentine's cactus to sit on my windowsill and rot, suddenly here they were. In the flesh.

About damn time.

"Mom…?" I whispered as I took a cautious step into the kitchen.

Dad's brow was creased like an un-ironed sheet, the way he gets when he's seriously concerned.

In a jangle of bracelets and hoop earrings, my Mom whirled around. Her expression furrowed with wonderment then broke into an astonished smile. I heard her sharply inhale.

"Juno…" She whispered, holding out her arms and taking two steps towards me. Her heels clacked against the linoleum floor, "My Juney…look at you! You…you are such a young woman!"

With every step she took towards me, I took a step back. My expression crinkled with every passing second as the emotions I had welled up over twelve years decided to have a field day. Anger rose hand in hand with confusion, surprise mingled with outrage, relief fused with melancholy. It was like my feelings had one great boozing party and I was the house they trashed. I found it difficult to swallow, my throat was suddenly parched.

When I did manage to speak, it came out croaked and weary. I held my hands up and shook my head disbelievingly.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…" I slowed her down. My eyes narrowed, "What the_hell_ do you think you're doing?"

Mom's head tilted to the side. Oh, she had gotten good with the whole false-innocence, pagan faux-hippy crap.

"Juno," She clasped her heart with a breathy sigh, "It's _me_!"

I cocked a wry eyebrow.

"Gee, thanks for the breakthrough Sherlock, I was always wondering if I was blind or if it was just my imagination." I deadpanned, cutting her down swiftly and ruthlessly.

At this my mother's expression fell.

"Are…aren't you pleased to see me, darlin'?" Her voice took on a hint of accusation. At this my stomach twisted sickeningly.

"Hmmm, let's see, it has been twelve years after all…yeah, you know, I think it's fan-_fuckin'_-tastic!" I spat, "I mean, I've only been waiting around for you since I was six, Mom. _Six_! What the hell do you expect? Let's break out the trumpets and fanfare because my Prodigal Mom and her band of carnie freaks (at this point I shot a glare towards her entourage) have decided to make a long-overdue visit to the forgotten daughter! Yeah, you know, I'm_totally_ thrilled."

My mother blinked. At the first sign that Dwight the Dick realized that I had a talent to cuss, he shuffled the Replacement Kids out of the kitchen, protecting their virgin ears. I continued on with my tirade. Twelve years of waiting can do that to you.

"Y'know, it's a pity they didn't write about people like you in the Bible, Mom, 'cos then you would have actually had an excuse. But I guess nothing could have excused the fact that you're a bitch. What did you expect? You could just waltz in here and I would come running? Ha, dream big!"

"Honey…" My mother tried to keep her voice steady, "I know you're angry…"

"Oh, anger's just the icing on the cake Mom!" I cut in, "I'm more than angry, I'm downright ticked off!"

"Juney…" Cynthia continued, "I understand you are upset-"

"Don't call me Juney!" I snapped, "I'm not some freakin' debutante!"

I held my head in my hands, taking a few shuddering breaths before sweeping my brown hair off of my face from where it had become plastered to my forehead. Tears stung my eyes. My throat ached as my raw rage ebbed to years of countless sorrow.

"Where were you Mom?" I asked quietly, my expression softening into one that would betray the vulnerability of my emotions, "Where the hell were you?"

"Oh sweetheart…" My mother gasped, her own eyes welling up with tears.

"You didn't come back." I whispered, sniffing and swallowing my tears, "Not once in twelve years and all I have to show for it are those freaking cacti!"

"Honey, I thought you'd understand-"

"How the fuck could I have understood?" My whisper became harsh, "I was six and every day I kept my fingers crossed that you might show up and say 'ha, ha, that was one hell of an April Fool's joke!' Where were you when I was growing up? You weren't there when whipped the guys in middle school in a game of soccer. You weren't there when I was trying to figure out what the hell a tampon was when I got my period. You weren't there when that god damn pregnancy test turned pink three times in a row! You just…were never there."

Mom's expression had crumpled into something that looked almost tragic.

"Juno…" She breathed softly, sidling up to me cautiously, her bangles jangling with each step. She hesitantly laid a hand lightly on my shoulder, "Juno, you need to know it was hard for me too."

I snorted ruefully, too busy fighting back the tears and chewing my bottom lip to respond. She continued.

"Honey, I think about you every day. When I wake up in the morning I wonder if it is your face I will see…moving away from you and your Dad was the hardest thing I ever did in my life, darlin'." Her brown eyes gleamed with tears that didn't have the courage to spill.

Having her in such proximity copped me an up-close view of how old she had really gotten. Sure, Dad lost all his hair, but Mom looked strangely older. The Arizona sun had bronzed her skin over twelve years to the consistency of leather, pronounced lines etched around the crow's feet of her eyes and on her brow. But she still tried to look young. Earrings loudly glittered from her ears, pale pink lipstick was stark against her tanned skin and eyeliner hooded her eyes. For someone younger her ensemble could have been quirky-hippy-chic…but on Mom, it was looking kinda desperate.

"Giving you up was the hardest thing I ever did." She concluded, her hands clasped over mine. My eyes fell to her fingernails. Bren could certainly give her a few hints.

"The hardest thing, huh?" I whispered, tilting my head to the side, "Well if it was that hard, where was your conscience hiding out? You talk to me like I don't have a freaking clue what its like to give up something that's your own flesh and blood, but Christ, I think I've got more of an idea about it than you do! There isn't a day that goes by where I don't think 'what if I had done things differently two years ago?' or 'I wonder what he's doing now?' or 'maybe I could go and see him and he'd be old enough to understand?' because, sheesh Mom, I don't want Patrick growing up and hating me for what I did like I do you!"

My mother stepped back, shaken by my words. I barreled onwards towards my almost-tearful finale.

"And you know what, Mom?" I whispered harshly, "I was pregnant for nine months. Nine _whole_ months. You couldn't even be bothered to visit me once."

"Juno, baby, it was hard then honey…Bell-Ray was starting school-"

"Screw freakin' Bell-Ray!" I raised my voice, a tear suddenly bursting free. I swiped at it fiercely, "It's always been excuses and broken promises with you! Go back to your tumbleweed and your god damned hippy commune! And don't even think about sending me another fucking cactus!"

I ended my tirade with a shout, tears by this time were streaming freely down my cheeks and my vision hazy as I stormed out of the house. I heard Dad call out after me as I shoved open the door and ran down the front steps, followed by Bren who had just put out her cigarette:

"June-bug, kiddo…?"

But I didn't heed any of them. I was so damn angry, heartbroken and disappointed all in one. A cocktail that topped off one of the worst days of my life.

* * *

Growing up in a small town like Dancing Elk, I knew where everything was by heart. Even blinded by tears and trying to run whilst taking great gulping sobs simultaneously, I still knew how to get to the drugstore I had left earlier that afternoon. But this time I didn't front up to Rollo (he would have had a field day seeing me, the impenetrable Juno MacGuff, crying…like hell I was going to give him that sick and twisted pleasure!), instead I went round the back where the stoner kids liked to get off their face and thirteen year olds thought it would be a cool place to have their first smoke. 

Fortunately, as dusk was settling, the rear of the drugstore was mercifully absent. Old cardboard boxes and milk crates littered the useless space. A skip overflowed with refuse and a symphony of flies. The previously drab walls were a mural of budding artists' graffiti tags. I kicked along a half-squashed Coca-Cola can, sending it skittering as I sniffed, ashamed of my own tears, and wiped away the sticky residue. Heaving a sigh, I crumpled onto an up-turned milk crate, staring at my shoes and my grungy surroundings. The place smelt weird. A bit like a rubbish tip mingled with the bleach disinfectant Rollo uses to clean the shop and some kid's cheap cigs. It was here, in the gutter of Dancing Elk, that I corralled my rampaging thoughts into some order.

Mom's sudden appearance had hit me like an unexpected slap. I was reeling and didn't quite know how to make sense of it. But her long-overdue return had confronted me with the fact that I too, two years ago, had abandoned someone who needed me…

But sure, I didn't just give him up spontaneously like the way a slushie-craving strikes. If anyone could have made a _planned_ abandonment, it would have been me. I had made up my mind to give Patrick up when he was still in sea monkey stage, for crying out loud!

But then, for the first time since I realized I was up the spout, I actually thought about my _future_ with Patrick. Throughout the pregnancy and after his birth I was concentrating on getting things back to normal: going back to school, shedding that baby fat, hanging out with Bleeker, trying not to be called 'that pregnant chick.'

Patrick? He was Vanessa's business. He was like an unwanted assignment shoved off onto one of the nerdy kids with the bribe of trying out for the cheerleading squad.

Vanessa was the one who put in all the hard work (well, asides from lugging the thing around for nine months and squeezing it through a part of my anatomy that I _swear_ was not designed to push kids out…). She was the one who had to get up at 2 am when he cried, change messy diapers, have him puke everywhere, give up her job to look after him, buy strollers and toys and bassinets and all that baby crap. I mean, sheesh, who would want something that wasn't even that cute making demands of you 24 hours a day, 7 days a week?

But sitting on that milky crate, with the tears drying and stretching the skin on my cheeks, I realized that one day Patrick would be my age. That one day, he would be asking questions. I don't know how the Bleeker-Juno genetics worked out in his case, but if Patrick inherited The Bleek's inquiring mind and my quick mouth, he would probably be putting two and two together in no time. And if Vanessa told him, what would he think of me?

Would he think I was some trashy knocked up teen with three piercings, kicked out of home and a smack-addicted boyfriend?

Would he think I was the next Mother Teresa by giving up my baby to a childless woman?

Would he think I was a selfish bitch?

Would he want to hunt me down and kill me?

Unfortunately the tears refused to stop flowing. I blubbered and sniffled like Leah at the end of _Titanic_ (pathetic, seeing Leo DiCaprio became passé when the 90's ended). I brushed away the tears, but they still streamed rivers. Sniffling, I stood up from my milk crate.

I spied a phone booth.

My feet seemed to take me there upon their whim. Blubbing and trying to see through the tears, I picked up a vandalized phone book and rifled through it.

_Loring…_

Then I stopped. _Loring_. That was Mark's name. Would Vanessa have kept it? What was Patrick then? Was he Patrick Loring or Patrick something-else?

"Damn, damn, damn." I cursed, huffing and slamming the phone book closed.

Then I spied the date. It was over three years old. Finally I was grateful for the exceedingly slow turn-over rate in my sleepy little town.

I sniffled, fishing around in my jean's pocket for some loose change and hearing them clink through the slot. I punched in the number whilst balancing the phone book on my knee. The ancient public phone clanked. My breath hitched as it rang one. Rang twice. Rang a third time.

"Hello?"

Vanessa's soft voice cupped my ear like a warm hand. I opened my mouth to speak but the words were strangled in my throat. I think all I managed was a choked release of air.

There was a pause on Vanessa's end of the line.

"Hello? Is…is anyone there?"

I slid against the glass of the phone booth and slumped to the floor. I cradled the receiver against my shoulder. Another tide of tears overwhelmed me and I involuntarily sniffled.

"Um…hi…Vanessa?" I eked out a watery whisper, all of a sudden feeling alone and helpless.

There was silence.

I could visualize the way her eyebrows would knit together over her hesitant brown eyes and her full lips form into a tentative purse.

"Juno…?" A response trembled from the other end.

"Juno…is that you?"

* * *

**_Author's Note:_** _I'm back! Apologies for the delay, this was the hardest chapter to write! Trying to balance Juno's humour with the seriousness of the subject matter is no easy feat! You may also note that this is the longest chapter I have written so far...it took me about a week to get it into shape. _

_The other reason for the interruption in chapter-posting is the fact that the real world has caught up with Juno and I. Uni returned today and for the past week I've been working full time. I know whenever an author mentions 'the real world' it usually means that a chapter update will eventuate in 2010 or something, but never fear, with my procrastinating attitude I'll try and get a chapter up fortnightly unless writer's block proves otherwise._

_ And another note, if anyone has a PDF copy of the _Juno_ script and would not mind emailing it to me, it would be a great help. The Fox link I had relied upon for the past nine chapters has decided to alter itself and that script was rather useful for a writer like me! Just PM or let me know in a review and I'll send you the details of getting it to me.  
_

_In the meantime, enjoy this extra-long and somewhat dramatic tid-bit I've given you all and waltz on down to the button below!_

_Sunday Smile. _


	11. Author's Note

**_Author's Note:_**

Hey kids, just dropping by a note to confirm the following:

1. Yes, I'm still alive.

2. Sorry to all those who thought this would be another chapter…

3. I have a copy of the Juno script!

4. YES, THIS STORY WILL CONTINUE!

As mentioned in my last author's note, I returned to second year uni. And it seems to have taken to me like a squid with many baseball bats. Insanity. To give you a little taste, I have to complete the following in the next two weeks: one 3000 word archaeological assessment, two 2500 word essays and a further 1500 word essay. Yes. So as you can see, not much time for creative writing. Add to that a healthy dose of writer's block and I'm just dandy (ha, not).

Chapter Eleven is three quarters of the way through and I have a rough date as to when it will be posted (thus replacing this author's note) around the 9th of May…ish. I know it's not ideal, but hey, I'm giving you a date so you all don't give up hope. And at least this isn't a I'm-giving-up-this-fiction-so-deal-with-it post. I hate those. I am determined to finish this story and I know you will all make sure that I do!

Whilst I'm on this rant, I should say a few things:

Thank you to all those kind, wonderful, so-amazing-I-haven't-enough superlatives people who took the time to review the ten chapters I have put up so far. Even the smallest of reviews makes me giddy and clap. A special thank you for those who have taken the time to review each chapter individually as they have read and those who have put considerable thought into their evaluations of my little piece of Junoverse, both the good and bad. You know who you are: thank you.

Another thanks to all those who have added this story to their favourites and alerts. Awesome.

I never thought my little attempt at the whacky nature of our favourite knocked-up teen would have such a wonderful readership. Keep it up.

And thanks to all those who helped me recover the 'Juno' script. Lifesavers.

But I shouldn't wax lyrical (I'm sure Juno would be gagging in the background). To answer a few questions that have been raised (might as well…).

- Yes, I am Australian. US spell check does wonders but obviously does not pick up on the little peculiarities of phrasing/word choice. And my limited knowledge of high schooling over there. The gist: Juno's 17 going on 18 and is in her final year of high school. If I get a chance to edit and clean up some of my chapters, I'll try and iron out those inconsistencies. Be patient with me, I'd much rather be focused on finishing this story.

- My writer's block isn't entirely crippling. I have recently been writing an original story which may be up on Fictionpress as soon as I get over this super-duper amount of uni work. Yes, shameless Chaser-style spruik. When it does actually hit the Interweb, I'll post a link on my profile if you would like to check it out. It's kooky, it's opinionated, it's romantic and rather oddball. Just how I like it.

- Hope is not lost for Juno and Bleeker.

So I think you have heard enough of me. Once again, sorry to all those who thought this was another chapter and sorry to all those who have been biting their nails furiously in anticipation for the next installment. The Junoverse in my head has not died, it just needs some recovery time from this kraken-style month I've had lately. I'll be back in early May, fo' shiz. If any of you are compelled to leave encouragement reviews, I would be over the moon.

See you in a few weeks. Keep the colour-safe bleach spirit alive, kids.

_Sunday Smile_.


	12. Coffee Confessions

Coffee Confessions

I unfolded the piece of paper crumpled like bad origami and squinted.

Yep, this was it.

The Swan Café. Lord help me, I had landed in Yuppie-ville.

It seemed every cashed-up mom with their monster prams had crammed the outdoor terrace, sipping their coffee with fancy Italian names. I brushed off my jeans self-consciously, trying not to look like I had come straight out of Dancing Elk.

Well, here goes, I now enter the first circle of Hell.

Walking briskly in, like I had a reason to be here, I wove through the shiny mother's who had so much money they didn't need a day job, catching snippets of conversation:

"Laura, goodness I love your hair! Did Alvaro do it for you?"

"As I was saying, Marianne, I had to inform Todd that the arrangement of his paintings in that gallery simply wouldn't work! The man has no appreciation of aesthetic!"

"I am so proud. Briony progressed onto solids last week, didn't she? Yes she did! Yes she did!"

Ugh, it was enough to make me gag.

Onto the second circle of Hell. Inside the café.

The walls were pristine white, as well as the chairs with polished teak tables to match. Splashes of color interspersed the clinical whiteness of the place (had I just walked into an E.R. ward?) in the form of a dripping chandelier and framed samples of wallpaper. I scratched my wrist as I looked about. I felt like I had walked into the Hilton or something schmanzy.

I squinted and scanned. I straightened as soon as I saw her.

The light flooded in from a bay window, causing the odd loose strands of brown hair that had come free from her tightly secured ponytail to glow. Even though she was inside, sunglasses of some expensive brand were wrapped around her eyes. Every few seconds she would adjust them out of habit. She would also bite her thumb, wring her hands or adjust the collar of her pale pink cardigan.

Yep, same old neurotic Vanessa.

When she spotted me she almost leapt out of her chair. Moving back gracefully, her hand instinctively travelled to her throat.

"Juno! Juno, _hi_…!" She gushed breathily, her voice slightly strained and trembling.

"Hey…" I lifted an eyebrow and did my best impression of the Rhett Butler don't-_give_-a-damn smirk.

There was a beat of silence. Vanessa was stiff, I was slouched and nobody made a move.

"Please, Juno, please sit down!" Vanessa killed the silence with a near-pleading tone, gesturing to the seat opposite hers.

I scraped back the chair, plonked onto it and dumped my shoulder bag on the floor. By now Vanessa had fluidly returned to her seat, lifting her sunglasses so they sat atop her head. She couldn't meet my eyes.

"Water? Would you like some water, Juno?" She motioned towards the water pitcher and poured me a glass. I saw her take a deep sip from her own glass and clear her throat.

"Well, would you like something to drink?" Vanessa continued, sliding the fancy coffee menu my way. She then back-tracked, "I mean, we don't have to order right now, if you don't want to…"

She finished with a self-conscious laugh. Briefly she bit her thumb, her brown eyes wavering with uncertainty as if I were some alien specimen.

"Um…it's fine…" I mumbled as skimming the menu.

Whatever Vanessa had said about: "shall we do coffee?" began and ended with the title of the menu.

_**The Swan Café**_

**Coffee Menu**

From there on, it was all gibberish to me. I was quite literally bombarded by a foreign language.

_Café latte_, _ristretto_, _macchiato_, _cappuccino_, _chai_, _frappucino_, _frappe_…and what the hell is an _affogato_?

The English descriptions next to these weirder and weirder names were no use either. They were like one big literary spank-off:

'_The _Café Amaretto_ has the robust taste of finely ground Colombian coffee beans complemented with the gentle warmth of high-quality _amaretto_ liqueur from Italy. It is guaranteed to provide a heady delight to the senses.'_

Whoever wrote this was definitely a wanker. Blah, blah, blah, blah.

Whenever you order coffee in Dancing Elk, that's what you get. Coffee. None of this Italian named crap. Hell, I'm not pronouncing something long and complicated just to get a much-needed caffeine buzz!

My eyes widened as Vanessa lifted a finger to signal the waitress. I looked down at the nonsensical menu. I was screwed, big time. A blonde with too much eye shadow and silver floated to our table, notebook poised.

"A macchiato, please," Vanessa ordered smoothly, "double shot with soy milk."

The waitress jotted it down and arched an eyebrow my way. Maybe flannelette wasn't such a good wardrobe choice today.

"Um…well, you know, I think this _affogato_ thing sounds kinda cool even though I don't know what the hell it is." I shrugged.

The waitress looked at me blankly.

"The _affogato_ is our special vanilla bean gelato topped with espresso-"

"Oh, ice cream, gotcha!" I exclaimed, hoisting the menus her way.

I began to regret ordering so quickly when silence ensued. Vanessa's gaze bounced from the table to the window to her hands which she couldn't stop fidgeting. She finally cleared her throat and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"So…" Her bright smile appeared strained, "So, um, Juno…it's been a while!"

Thanks for that, Captain Obvious.

"Sure has." I raised my eyebrows.

Her wide smile lessened into a small curl of her lips. Her brown eyes focused on the perfection of her manicure.

"I…I didn't expect you to call. Not that I didn't want you to call…!"

I almost winced at the memory.

"Look, about that phone call," I smiled through my teeth, "D'you think you could sort of, you know, wipe it from your memory and pretend it never happened? I mean, I don't really want to add 'blubbering idiot' to the list of bad impressions I've already given you, beginning with 'knocked up teen.' You know what? How about we forget the whole thing…it was a stupid idea…"

I chickened out. I totally chickened out.

I shoved back the chair, ready to make a run for it like a wimp when Vanessa's slender fingers wrapped firmly around my wrist.

"Juno, no! Please…please stay…!" She whispered desperately, her eyebrows knitted and brown eyes gazing at me pleadingly. I halted.

"I honestly did not mean it that way," She continued hurriedly, almost as if she were reprimanding herself, "What I meant was that…"

Her eyes suddenly fixed onto where she clutched my wrist. Her fingers sprang off me like she had been scalded, hastily disappearing under the table.

"…I had been meaning to call you for some time."

There was a pause. I slumped back into the chair. Vanessa's hesitant laugh sounded again.

"I just didn't expect it to be so soon."

I waited a few moments before speaking.

"So…you're cool with the whole breaking off the closed adoption thing?"

Vanessa pursed her lips and thought for a moment.

"What Gerta does not know will not hurt her." She reasoned.

"Yeah," I huffed, "Lawyers get paid _way_ too much anyway. They can't be in on everything. That's just selfish."

Vanessa laughed uneasily. I sighed. Another awkward silence was on the horizon. The elegant woman in front of me sought to plug the gap as quickly as possible.

"So…you must be in your final year now, Juno."

I rolled my eyes.

"Sheesh, don't I know it! Exams this, study that, Crazy Cuthbert's on the rampage…it's like they're trying to shrivel my life into a little ball!" I pressed my fingers together and put on a squeaky voice, "Ah! Not senior year! My life is over! _Nooooo_!"

I knew Vanessa wanted to laugh. Seriously, she did. But I bet years of suppression can do weird things to your face. Like Botox.

She sighed.

"I'm sure it's tough…"

"You can say that again." I mumbled, "You know what's even scarier? The fact that I'm gonna be eighteen. That's like…two years away from twenty. I've only got two more years to enjoy the excuse of teenage angst!"

Vanessa gave me her funny little not-quite-sure smile again.

"It is a big step, Juno." I could she was scrabbling for something appropriate to say.

I lowered my head in my hands melodramatically.

"Oh, I know _all_ about 'big steps-'" I cut myself off as I saw Vanessa immediately straighten. Maybe referring to my pregnancy this early on in the piece wasn't such a good idea…but hell, I had already put my foot in it, "So…um, how's um…you know."

"Patrick?" Vanessa whispered, leaning forwards.

"Er…yeah."

I saw her eyes light up and her posture immediately relax.

"He's amazing." She gushed.

Sheesh, I would have been happy with a non-descript 'he's good', but it seems two year olds come under the heading of 'amazing' nowadays. These new-fangled parents and their expanding vocabularies…

"Wow, what's he doin', conquering the world?" I wisecracked. If he's got my genetics, I'd be disappointed if he didn't.

"Not quite…" Vanessa tried to laugh, "But he is doing extremely well in his Baby Mozart group."

I almost snorted coffee through my nose.

"Baby Mozart?" I spluttered.

"Oh yes," Vanessa answered breezily, "And one of my friend's recommended Baby Einstein as well, but I read somewhere that it would be detrimental to over-stimulate children at such a young age."

I raised my eyebrows quizzically and pushed away my coffee-meets-ice cream extravaganza.

"Whatever floats your boat…" I muttered and widened my eyes.

Vanessa continued on, her voice becoming excited and chirpy.

"I mean, what you need to understand is, I've read _so_ much on this subject," She leaned forwards seriously, "That I just want to find the right balance, you know?"

"Uh huh." I responded blankly.

"It's such a fine line, Juno." She clasped her hands together before placing them on either side of the table like two opposing camps, "I mean, do you risk overwhelming them in such a formative stage of their development, or if you don't, are you missing out on an opportunity that could shape their lives forever…?"

She stared at me like I had the answer. My mouth hung open slightly. Vanessa suddenly blinked and swallowed, realizing who she was talking to. Her passion was replaced by nervous fidgeting.

"I'm sure you don't really care…" She laughed feebly, her eyes downcast.

There was a beat of silence. All of a sudden, her brown eyes snapped up to meet mine. I noticed they were watering.

"I just want to get this right, Juno." She whispered shakily. A self-conscious smile played on her lips, "I've waited so, _so_ long. I want it to be perfect."

Well…waddya say to that?

"Er…well…" I began uncomfortably, "Y'know, I'm sure it'll be cool. You're cool, I'm sure he's cool….so yeah. You'll knock 'em dead."

Vanessa bit her lip and shook her head slightly, her hand traveling to the back of her neck and eyes wandering to the window.

"I'm sure people think I'm paranoid." She laughed haltingly, "Mark would."

I could detect a hint of bitterness, an undercurrent of sorrow. She sniffed again, her fingers curling and wiping the tip of her nose. She regarded me warily.

"Oh Juno, I'm sorry, "She breathed, "Here I am, supposed to be talking about you, but…"

"Hey, hey," I interjected, holding my hands up, "It's no big deal! Y'know, I have my freak-outs then everything's royally awesome. I'm the impenetrable Juno MacGuff, remember!"

Vanessa, the fully grown woman in front of me, appeared very fragile.

"No…I can't forgive myself…"

I decided to lose the 'yo, it's cool' act and shifted towards her.

"Vanessa," I spoke slowly, "I know you're looking after him. Hell, Baby Mozart classes, what else could a kid need?"

Vanessa laughed softly, tears threatening to spill. She gripped my hands tightly and squeezed them, her smile incredibly wide.

"Thank you." She whispered, "Thank you so much. He's all I've got."

* * *

A phone number. An address.

_Call me. Anytime._

_Vanessa._

I turned the card over with Vanessa's impeccably neat handwriting and sighed. The Pixies murmured in the background of my bedroom.

So that was it?

Be banished, closed adoption! Vanessa and I, human chalk and cheese, were suddenly on talking buddy-buddy terms. The reality of seeing Patrick for the first time since he was covered in my fluids and goop was a very close and very scary. Super freaky.

I slid the card under the coffee mug and stack of CDs beside my bed. My eyes lingered on the lobster phone. My fingers itched to dial Bleeker's number. I wanted to hear the phone ring twice and recognize his quavering voice on the other end. I wanted to be the one to say: 'Yo Bleek, guess who I saw today? Free Slushie if you get it right.'

I rolled over, hugged my pillow and huffed angrily. I'm sure he was too busy fondling Soup Girl's panties to be bothered to think about me.

And why did I care? He was only lame Bleeker with his uber-lame girlfriend.

I groaned into the pillow. Why did life have to suck so much? Suck, suck, royally suck!

I grunted as I heard a tentative knock at the door.

"June-bug?" Liberty Bell's soft and lisping voice squeaked through the key hole.

"Mmmm?" I responded.

The door creaked open and her ballet-slippered feet pattered across the floor. I looked up at my little sister through my fall of brown hair.

"What's up, L.B?"

She smiled at me shyly and rocked back on her heels. She always looked like she had a secret to tell, but really, that's she way she always looks. Bren says it's adorable, but the doctor's call it a learning deficiency.

"Just comin' to say hi." She lisped.

My lips quirked into a smile and I shuffled over on my bed, patting the free space and inviting her to join me. She eagerly climbed on and snuggled up against me like one of Bren's dogs…without the saliva. I wrapped my arms around her and nestled into her hair. She smelt like her favorite strawberry shampoo.

"I don't like them, June-bug." She faltered over the words.

"Who?" I asked raspily, stroking away a tendril from her cheek.

"Them." She sulked, "Your Mommy and that man and those kids."

I stiffened. So much for Operation: Block Out The Bad Memories.

"Yeah, they're country hicks." I muttered.

"Mom doesn't like them neither." L.B whispered.

Hell she doesn't.

There was quiet.

"Juno…?" Her voice piped up again.

"Mmm?"

"You're not goin' nowhere are you?"

I propped myself up. A lazy smile drifted over my lips.

"I'm not going anywhere, L.B. You're stuck with me."

Liberty Bell flashed me a gap-toothed smile.

"Good."

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**_ That's right, its the long overdue return of me! Yes, yes, I know I said 'May 9th...ish' in the last post, but one thing you should know about me and Juno...things never go to plan. I was pretty lucky to get this chapter out of my system. Essays and writer's block hit pretty hard, its been a crazy last few months. At least its here._

_I apologise if this chapter isn't up to the usual standards. Writer's block breaking chapters tend to be that way with me, but never fear, I'll probably be back to my old wise-cracking self in another chapter's time. Semester for me ends in about two weeks, so unless I get struck by writing lightening sometime in my sleep, another chapter may be a few weeks off._

_I would also like to say a big thank you to all those who sent such wonderful and encouraging reviews: you kids are awesome and keep up the great work. 150 reviews so far...I'm pretty damn impressed and really grateful. Hopefully I'll keep doing justice by you._

_Anywho, on with the show...do as you do best and swagger on down to the button below!_

_Sunday Smile._


	13. So Not Wizard

So Not Wizard**  
**

_Bleeker:_

Mom never liked it when Juno came up to my room.

Juno once said it was 'like wrestling with a cheesed off hippo' as the pair of them barreled up the narrow staircase to my room, elbowing each other out of the way. Most times I knew Juno had come to visit was by the thunderous footsteps that preceded one or the other of them (usually Juno) bursting into my room and slamming the door in the other's face.

It didn't mean Mom was out of the picture, however. By the creaks on the landing outside my doorway, Juno concluded that my mother had 'all the subtlety in her snooping ability that Inspector Gadget does. Go Carole.'

I sighed and stared out my bedroom window at the street below.

_Juno_…

The audible whine of the second last step on the staircase, followed by two pairs of footsteps making their laborious ascent, caused me to jump from where I had been sprawled, staring at the early dusk settling over sleepy Dancing Elk, and make my gangly-stumbling way over to my desk. I ruffled the neatly arranged piles of paper, whipped my calculator out of the drawer and turned on the desk lamp, bowing my head and scrunching up my features into a look of study-constipation.

I squeaked when there was a knock on the door. As usual, Mom never waits for an answer.

"Puppy…?" Mom poked her head around cheerfully.

"Mmmhmm?" I buried my face in my hand and grunted as if studying was my version of crack…not that I've ever taken drugs or anything.

"Puppy, you have a visitor."

I stared blankly for a good few moments, my face falling slack of any expression. I bet I looked like a royal loser.

"Oh…right…um…yeah…"I faltered, snapping out of my disbelief that:

1. Mom escorted someone up to my room. Since when did she, _my_ Mom, _escort_?

And…

2. She's letting me have a visitor on a _Sunday_ night. That's right: _Sunday_…and in right before _Monday_…as in school is less than 24 hours away.

Wizard.

"Oh…um…cool. Awesome. Wizard." I felt my tongue twist as the words came tumbling out of my mouth. Oh man.

"That's cool…um…but…you know I've got an algebra test tomorrow and la, la, la?" I creased my brow and scratched the back of my neck, wondering if my Mom had lost her proverbial marbles and sucked them up in the vacuum cleaner.

But no, it was like the apocalypse had arrived…but a very nice apocalypse, one filled with rainbows and daisies and girly stuff like that. To use the phrase Juno always hated: my mother's frown was turned upside down.

"Honey," She spoke kindly, her hands on her hips, "You've been studying so hard lately. I think you deserve a little break."

"Um…sure." My voice quivered with uncertain optimism as I pushed my wheelie chair away from the desk.

My mother let the rest of the door swing open, revealing a petite blonde with a slight tic in her eye. My stomach sank. I don't really want to admit that, but it did.

"Hi Paulie!" She smiled and freed her hand from the tea-towel-covered plate she was holding, giving me a little wave.

"Oh…hi Kat." I managed with a slight grimace disguised as a smile.

"Isn't it nice that Katrina has decided to visit? You should really have her over more often, Paulie."

I swallowed.

"Uh…sure thing Mom."

Katrina stepped into my bedroom, perching herself on the end of my racecar bed. My mother started to close the door.

"Don't forget dinner at seven, Puppy."

"Yeah…cool."

"Have fun you two." She finished, closing the door behind her.

She winked. I could swear she winked.

An awkward silence settled over the room, both of us listening to the heavy descent of Mom's footsteps. Katrina chewed her lower lip, straightening her back and flicked the hair away from her face. I gulped.

"Um…it sure is nice of you to come over and visit, Katrina."

Oh lame. Royally lame.

She gave me that vacant smile of hers, sighing and doing that flicky-hair-over-the-shoulder-thing that kinda annoys me.

"Oh, it's no big deal. I knew you were studying all day so I thought I'd come over after I made some of these…" She lifted the red and white tea towel, revealing a plate of cookies.

The smell filled the room. At first sniff they smelt delicious, like cookies should and stuff, but on second inhale, there was a funny odor about them that wasn't quite right. Something that made me wrinkle my nose. Something that smelled suspiciously…like soup.

"Wizard…?" I offered weakly.

"Here, have one." The cookies were hoisted in my direction.

For a moment I hesitated. I contemplated saying something like: 'no thanks, I want to leave room for dinner', the type of excuses most people with a spine come up with when they don't want something. But no, I'm Paulie J. Bleeker. I'm a nice guy. A nice guy with no spine…or balls.

"Thanks." I muttered, taking a cookie off the top and hoping they tasted better than they smelt...

They didn't. So not wizard.

"Mmmm." I tried to smile, chewing as quickly as I could and forcing it down my throat without gagging.

Katrina nibbled away like there was nothing wrong with them. The plate was once again under my nose.

"Uh…" I stuttered, "Um…no thanks…I think I might save the rest for after dinner."

Katrina de Voort sighed and made herself comfortable on my bed, kicking off her shoes and shedding her jacket. I noticed she wore only a skimpy pink tank top underneath. She did that flicky thing with her hair again.

"So, did you hear about that Leah girl totally having the hots for our Phys Ed teacher, Mr. Wilkinson? Isn't it gross? I think it's gross." She chattered, shifting closer to me on the bed. My mouth went dry.

"Yeah…" I was at loss as to how to respond, "It sure is interesting."

"But isn't it _weird_?" Katrina widened her eyes. I noticed her left eye wasn't as big as the other one, "I mean, he's a teacher! He's like old and icky."

"I guess everyone has their tastes…and yeah." I gave a half-hearted laugh.

"Mmm." Katrina pursed her lips, her eyebrows creasing a little in disapproval of my vague answer.

There was another moment of silence. I stiffened as Katrina leaned up against me, absent-mindedly rubbing her bare shoulder so that the thin strap of her top slid down. She let out a long sigh.

"I missed you Paulie. It feels like I haven't seen you in _ages_…!"

"Um…I saw you yesterday." I stated, confused.

She sighed and lifted her gaze to the ceiling, as if I had done something wrong. The pressure of her weight against me became heavier. My heart started to race.

"Yeah…" She huffed, "But don't you wish that we could see more of each other? Spend some more time together? Senior year totally sucks."

"Uh…yeah, yeah it does." I scratched the back of my neck, befuddled as to where this was going.

Katrina turned around to face me.

"It's really lame that I can't, you know, come over _every_ night."

"Er…"

"I mean, don't you wish that we were like _normal_ couples doing _normal_ couple things?" I noticed she had suddenly become flustered, her cheeks turning slightly pink as she flicked her hair incessantly.

I gave her a quizzical look.

"But…I thought, you know, that we were a normal…_oh_!"

My sentence was stopped in its tracks as Katrina de Voort, quiet Katrina de Voort who likes sherbet candy and collecting My Little Ponies (don't ask…), suddenly whipped off her top in front of me. My eyes widened and my heart leapt to my throat. All I could do was stare.

"Uh…"

Katrina leaned towards me, pressing her arms together so they made the small undulations in her pastel colored bra look bigger. She attempted a sultry pout. My mouth hung open.

"Don't worry Paulie, I'm completely fine with it." She shrugged a shoulder, taking one of my limp hands and placing it on her right breast, trying to crawl on top of me.

I let out a little whimper, hurriedly scuttling across my bed away from her. Her pale flesh looked blinding in the florescent light.

"But Katrina!" I squeaked in protest, "It's only been…like…two weeks!"

Katrina sat back with a sigh, rolling her eyes.

"Oh come on Paulie," She huffed, "I'm seventeen, not twelve!"

"But my Mom…!"

"She's downstairs cooking dinner."

"Um…but don't you think…?"

Katrina's left eye squinted a bit.

"You were the one who knocked Juno up, weren't you?" She demanded, as if the fact that I got Juno pregnant back in the day meant that I was some kind of…sex-maniac…

I blinked at her words, shrinking back. Katrina's expression softened immediately, sensing my discomfort. She leant over me and pressed a lingering kiss to my neck.

"C'mon Paulie…" She cooed, "…I'm your girlfriend…"

I sighed, letting her clamber on top of me, her legs straddling and her mouth tracing increasingly wet kisses up the goosebumps on my neck.

I closed my eyes, letting it all happen. Moist lips travelled under my jaw, a flickering tongue caused shivers to tremble up my spine. I relaxed into the pillows as her arms snaked around my neck.

The press of a female body against my skinny form made my adolescent mind roam. Doctors and fathers say it's normal for young teenaged males to have those types of thoughts, to think about girls this way and to wake up the next morning feeling moist in more ways than one. Believe me, back before Juno and I got together I used to have some pretty creative dreams…but I don't think I'll share them with you. They're, you know…private.

I'm sure right then and there I should have visualized Katrina in all sorts of positions, in all sorts of ways that would make me gape and wonder: 'how do you even _do_ that?!' But no, the chemicals in my brain (because its all chemicals…textbooks say so) didn't go all crazy and hormonal. Instead, I pictured only one thing…

Juno.

For a moment I felt heavy, melancholy weighing me down. But that was only for a moment. The next visualization to slam into my brain brought on quite a different mood…

That of Juno on top of me.

Juno positioned above me, her legs straddling and her nipples hard underneath the threadbare top she wore, much like the first time we did it. The night I lost my virginity to her.

It was Juno I felt as someone grinded above me, stripping me of my shirt and unhooking their bra. I pictured her ample breasts (they never did go down from pregnancy), the conniving little smile she would give me before she would tickle me in a spot that would have me gasp and moan, and the way her long brown hair would brush against my cheek.

"Wizard…" I whispered as I felt the zipper on my jeans slowly come undone, the person above me shedding theirs so they were only in their panties.

I lost myself. I remembered the touches, the smells, the tastes of Juno. The way she would let me curl her fingers in her hair. The way she liked to get rough with me, giving me hickies in places that I would have to hide from my mother the next morning. The way she would sometimes make the weirdest comments, often killing the romance but never the mood. The way she always got me going. The way my mind exploded and my vision suddenly blacked out at the end of it all, my body left weak and my brain light-headed and fuzzy.

The way I loved her.

A shuddering sigh escaped my lips as a pair of fingers slipped under my boxers and stroked my most sensitive area.

"Oh Paulie…" I heard someone whisper above me.

My mind reeled and I smiled wistfully.

"Oh…Juno…" I moaned shakily.

The person on top of me stiffened.

"_What_?"

I lifted my eyelids lazily, the dreamy smile fading from my lips. Blonde hair tickled my nose and one very squinty eye glared.

Uh oh.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **No, you are not hallucinating! Yes, it's another chapter! Can you believe it?! (I'm still coming to terms about it myself...) Wow!_

_I guess I owe you all gargantuan apologies for the fact that I haven't updated 'Maturity is Relative' for...oh, I don't know...two whole months. It's shameful of me, really. Absolutely absurd. But I do have a legitimate reason! (Oh yes, yes I do...! Or at least I will try...)_

_Reasons for not updating for an embarrassingly long amount of time:_

_1. Really, really, really bad writer's block. Like looking at the page and thinking 'WTF??' type writer's block. Its a poor excuse, I know._

_2. (This is the major one) All my 'Maturity is Relative' files getting wiped off my computer, along with every other story I've written. That's right, it all went. Completely gone. Zip. Au revoir. Those who write can probably appreciate what a setback it is to both the progression of the story and to my morale. It's taken me a while to recover..._

_So there you have it, the reason for my absence the past few months. But I'm back and more determined to finish this story than ever! I must say at about this point that I'm only planning for two or three chapters more of this story...at most probably five, so you'll definitely have to keep tuned!_

_I hope you kids have still got the enthusiasm and the fire for this story. Next chapter is back to good 'ol Juno's perspective (I thought I might throw you all with a bit of Bleeker action...) so you'll have to keep your eyes peeled._

_Welcome me and Juno back, it's been a while coming! Do what you do best and skedaddle on down to the button below!_

_Sunday Smile._


	14. Welcome Back

Welcome Back

_The next day…_

The bell signaling the end of class and the beginning of lunch break rang shrilly above my seat. Anyone who has had any form of education in a public institution knows what that means: _stampede_.

"Uh!" I scowled as I was jostled against the rest of the student body rushing for the hall, carried away against my will.

My eyebrows jerked upwards as a stray hand planted a firm grasp on my jeans-covered butt. Despite the crush of classmates, I managed to whip around with a fo' shizz pissed look written all across my face. My shoulders slumped as soon as I saw who it was.

"One more wrong move Rendazo," I sneered, looking him up and down, "I'll turn those puny balls of yours into a vag."

But the bastard only smirked and gestured towards his pelvis suggestively.

"Be my guest J-Doll."

"Uh! Why don't you go…nail the quarterback! I heard it's the latest craze in the football team!" I shot over my shoulder, marching out of the classroom and into the swell of students in the hall.

Grunting, jostling and shoving, practically clambering over the terrified A.V. kids, I briefly considered balling up my sweater and shoving it under my t-shirt to make everyone part like the Red Sea like they had back in the day when I was obviously up the spout.

Wrestling my way to my row of lockers, I passed the girl's bathrooms where Soupy de Voort and her trio of nasally-retarded friends (I mean, seriously, am I the only one that can smell something just a _little _off about that girl?) huddled together. I raised an eyebrow with mild curiosity as I noticed Katrina's nose was buried in a tissue, her friends whispering and looking concerned and her eyes were all red and puffy. And then it hit me as soon she registered my presence. _Wham_! I, Juno MacGuff, just copped one hell of a Stink Eye. Oh no, that was beyond just an ordinary Stink Eye. That was the _mother_ of all Stink Eyes!

I gave Her Royal Highness Queen of all Stink Eyes a perplexed look.

"Yo, de Voort!" I called over to her, gesturing to her squidged-shut left eye, "Maybe you should go get that checked out!"

She huffed, scowled and somehow managed to find fresh tears in response. Her friends hustled her into the bathroom as I turned away.

Trudging down the now quieter hall, I shook my head with amusement.

"Fine, don't take my advice," I conversed to myself, "Man…"

The combination on my locker clicked open and in a matter of moments, books were in, lunch was out. I slammed my locker shut just as a bouncy voice floated my way.

"Yo, yo, June-to-the-o!"

Three guesses who?

"Digging the homie act, white girl?" I wisecracked as Leah shook free her tumble of curls from her ponytail, slipped on a pair of sunglasses and pouted like a Versace model.

"Well, I was trying to be _creative_," The cheerleader huffed, jogging up and down, "Biology sure zaps your brain cells, dude! It's a good thing Mr. Kimble has a nice ass."

"If you say 'Mr. Kimble' and 'ass' in the same sentence again, Le, I think I might just bring up the food I haven't even eaten yet." I winced as Leah and I made our way out of the school halls to the fresh air outside, my best friend ripping open a packet of chips.

"So…" She began, her mouth full and chip crumbs spilling everywhere, "Heard the latest?"

"Apart from Mr. Wilkinson practically taking out a restraining order on you…? No."

Leah pouted further, snorting out a little huff of air.

"I mean, seriously, I think everyone just _over_-reacted. Simon's idea of 'personal trainer' sure as hell is different from my definition! Now everyone thinks I'm some sort of reverse-pedophile or something…"

Just to fill you in on the loop, last week a certain 'incident' went down with Leah and the object of her ardent affections, Mr. Wilkinson (ie. Red-Headed Simon). No news on what actually _happened_. Even Leah, the best gossip-spreader since the Vartuli twins left to go up-market to some fancy-dancy private school, is keeping tight-lipped on this one. And that's saying something.

But anyway, stop blabbering MacGuff, the point _is_, word got out and spread about as fast around Dancing Elk as the news that I was knocked up two years ago. Small town, big mouths. Le's now got compulsory 'sessions' with Crazy Cuthbert to figure out her 'complex.' My best friend's stunt has even made it into the Dancing Elk High student vocabulary:

_Pulling a Leah_: to suck up/flirt with a teacher for good grades/sexual favors/other dubious deals.

"Don't worry Le," I patted her on the shoulder with an attempt at sympathy, "I heard when you get to college that professors dig that kinda thing."

"Really?" She perked up, her eyes suddenly alight. Oh jeez, I bet her mind was having a field day with all the visuals of gray beards and tweed jackets.

"OK, so what's the news?"

"Hmmm?"

"You were going to tell me something…?"

"Oh…right…yeah!" Leah ripped herself from her Yale mind-orgy (ew…beards, musty old books and _monocles_!), "Well, news is…hmmm…how should I put this…?"

"Spit it out, Le."

"Well, the buzz from the girl's bathrooms in the past hour, and I swear, cubicle gossip never lies, is that your Mr. Postcards-en-Español is no longer 'on' with Miss Twitchy-Eye."

I stopped in my tracks, my eyebrows raised to new heights. A bemused smile crept across my mouth like a Chesire Cat grin.

"Really?"

"Yup!" Leah sang, "Kaput! Completely dead as a Dodo!"

"Well this is interesting news indeed." I observed drily, picking up the pace with a twinkle in my eye.

Three steps later I noticed Leah hovering, that sneaky grin pulling at her cheerleader's smile like the time she dared me to go out the back of the school with her to smoke her Dad's stolen cigarettes. Let it be known that I, Juno MacGuff, am never one to back down on a challenge.

"What?" I asked, giving her a stare.

"So…?" She prompted, that smile growing wider.

"What?" I repeated, this time genuinely confused.

Leah rolled her eyes as if I were a hopeless case.

"Well, Bleek's back on the market, Juno…"

It was time for me to roll my eyes.

"Oh c'mon Le, just because Paulie's no longer playing tonsil hockey with Lady Soupalicious doesn't mean I'm going to jump him right away!"

Leah arched a skeptical eyebrow.

"Give me some credit here!" I exclaimed, waving about my arms, "I'm not some…hormone-crazed teenager!"

Leah snorted with disbelief.

"Besides," I huffed, folding my arms, "I'd have to wait for him to stop smelling like Bren's three day old minestrone to even _contemplate_ going near him."

* * *

Sure enough, I found him.

The athletics track was emptying as the afternoon sun hung lower towards the horizon. The football team dribbled off the field with faint whoops and the coach shouting something about a good training session. School had ended an hour ago yet I still don't know what I was doing hanging around the place.

Perched high upon the bleachers, his back to me, I scuffed my Converse on the grass and thrust my hands into my pockets, swaggering over his way. He didn't notice me, his skinny arms propped up on his bare knobbly knees (still in the golden shorts of his track outfit), his chin cupped, staring out to a nothingness that I can never get my head around.

I coughed, stepping onto the bleachers. His startled brown eyes blinked, his quivering lower lip sucked inwards and he stared at me as if he didn't recognize me. Then he relaxed, uncertainty playing across his features.

"Hey…" His brow crinkled, unsure of what I was doing here.

"Hey." I replied casually, rocking back and forwards from where I stood.

There was a moment of silence.

"Mind if I cramp your style?" I nodded towards where he was seated.

Bleeker didn't respond, merely shifted along his seat, the sound of Tic-Tacs rattling in his pocket. It was enough of an invitation. Scaling to the top of the bleachers with great strides, I plonked myself besides his wiry frame and let out a sigh.

There was another silence, but this time it wasn't awkward. More like understanding, you know?

Bleeker cleared his throat.

"So…so…I guess you heard…" He began hesitantly, his eyes darting all over the place.

"Yeah…" I exhaled slowly, "You could say something like that."

He let out a small, pathetic laugh.

"I guess you could say I royally screwed up."

"Sounds like it."

"I'm the laughingstock of the school."

"Pretty much."

"Have you always been this brutally honest?"

I stopped and blinked.

"Yeah," I shrugged and gave him a sneaky smile, "I guess I have."

"So…" I cleared my throat to avoid another awkward silence, "What went down?"

Bleeker huffed meekly.

"I _didn't_ go down…" His cheeks turned a little pink. He started to stutter, "On her…you know."

"Ah…" I raised my eyebrows, pretending to be unfazed.

"We didn't even get past second base."

OK, too much information, Paulie.

"Well," I slapped his shoulder in a pretence of male camaraderie, "At least you've got the memories."

Bleeker did what he did best: looking bewildered.

"What…what do you mean?"

"Well…" I remarked flippantly, "I didn't exactly want anyone stealing my thunder, did I now? We used to hit a home run every time. We had a good thing going!"

I suddenly shut my mouth as I realized just what I had said. Nice one Juno MacGuff! You just put your foot in it…_again_! A flickering of emotions overwhelmed Paulie's face, each as unreadable as the next. I breathed a small sigh of relief as his lips curled into a small smile.

"Yeah…" He spoke softly, thoughtfully and almost regretfully, "We did."

We both sighed simultaneously as we watched the sunset wash over the empty athletics track.

"Its good to have you back, Bleek." I finally admitted, very quietly.

Bleeker exhaled softly through his nose.

"Yeah." He, with his quivering voice, affirmed me.

And there, in the silence, I felt his pinkie finger touch mine. Such a little touch, and I responded. Slowly, ever so slowly, we curled our pinkie fingers together, linking them as we sat on the bleachers, not staring at each other, but at the sunset.

Yeah, it was good to have him back.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** And I bet its good to have me back as well! Yep, no marathon disappearances this time, I actually did update! Huzzah! I'm sure a lot of people were waiting for that chapter...so do what you do best and cartwheel down to the button below!_

_Only a few more chapters left of this baby and I'm going to try my best to get them to you as quickly as possible, but excuse me if I don't due to creative drain. Thanks for your ridiculously amazing reviews, it still makes me smile every time!_

_Sunday Smile.  
_


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